The sober sun of Monday morning shines through the last transparent pieces of love left over from Saturday
until all that remains is day old hate after a Sunday of self reflection and loathing.
I am not proud of the weakness I succumbed to this weekend,
my eyes and arms have to learn how to forgive me for the torture I forced them to endure.
It was stupid of me to believe that this weekend would be different,
that the superficial signs of affection you showed me on Saturday had the sincerity of Sunday morning.
You haven’t spoken to me since,
despite my attempts
and I am feeling as desperate as you undoubtedly think I look.
I thought I loved me enough for us both
but I loathed my self for never earning your adoration,
so I showered you in all that I had hoping it would one day trickle down your back and back on to me
now I am dying of thirst at your feet.
Let this be my final verse,
the last degrading poem of praise and pain I scribble in your name.
Let my heart forget you,
let me purge you from my brain so that your face becomes a stranger to my eyes.
I pray you never lie to another woman again the way you lied when you lied with me,
pray you never make her cry the way you made me,
pray that one day I may love my self as passionately and unconditionally as I have always loved you.