A poem that conforms to the style of Sylvia Plath (meant in context of her husband's infidelity) It has already been decided a thousand years before that I was never meant to last longer than the passing of seasons nor longer than the time it takes for a wretch like you to steal and swallow all. All those pills. All those words. All that scratched up skin. Let me retaliate and steal your teeth those molars, canines and gnashing insiscors So I can grind them down one by one into snowy ash and throw it all off of rooftops followed by the hooked feathers you plucked one by one from my torn back that way, your little lies could no longer form little candied whispers that drip off the earlobes of simpering girls and run like blood down their necks and I will leave only my feathers to laugh at your dust since in its finality, I will crawl to my resting place.

I'm not sure at all as to what it was, or what it wasn't for that matter. Most likey those infamous teenaged horomones glorified and thrown onto silverscreens. I guess you could say that our screens were of a completely different nature. dark, and mostly silent. You could debate that it wasn't all chemical compounds like those ones labelled and studied in a dingy fluorescent lab. Odds are though if it were more than those, we'd deny it. Even to our own logic. Since in my case you would be yet another hello and goodbye which are rather tiring to say the least. In yours however, I would want some things left unsaid and unknown. You could also claim that there were slip ups. Like that time I admitted that I actually needed you without saying a word. You slipped up too. When you wiped the traces of self doubt and defeat off my cheeks. And I felt pretty bad, that I looked at a wall instead. In my defence, I was thinking for both of us Because hearts and goodbys simply do not mix well at all.