Not the forgiving type

Do you know what it means when I say that I feel too deeply?
After the ‘it’s not you baby, it’s me’ that you just gave me…
I guess not.
The sun rose with the promise of my love for you and set with my undying devotion.
You were my black messiah.
Not a heavenly decree or the flaming depths of hell could have kept me from you.
It’s not me it’s you,
Because when we made love you could have removed my liver and I would still be ecstatic
You were my Shaka,
My avenging warrior.
I worshiped at your feet,
Bloomed like a flower when you quoted Keats.
I kept track of the Barclays Premier League.
Your friends wanted to be you because you had me.
Was it the long legs that shook your resolve?
The sexy laugh that I couldn’t pull off unless I was possessed by the ghost of Marilyn Monroe?
Was it that she did more than worship, she was a willing servant?
Because she could rock them heels and still get on her knees when you wanted, how you wanted.
When I loved you my love was an eternal roaring fire. And it only burned for you.
Do you know what it means when I say that I feel too deeply?
You were a sea side cliff standing resolute and massive and I the waves crashing against you.
If you gave an inch, I went a mile.
When I saw you with the long legged, heel rocking girl with a sexy laugh…
Love became emptiness as though your betrayal hollowed out my soul. All that’s left is the slow burn of all consuming hatred,
now I rise to the image of you riddled with STIs. That’s right, I hope she gives you drug resistant gonorrhea.
I go to sleep with the hope that her complete lack of culinary skills gives you food poisoning and nothing,
Not a sanction by the Gods or a haunting by the devil himself will cleanse my blackened heart.
Now you know…

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