Her demeaning message has infected my heart. Every night, the pain grows more intense, like my chest has been torn open, and singed.
She continues, joyously flowing, like blood through veins, but my circulation however, is cut. The blood leaks, wasted. I await my virtuous surgeon to extinguish this horror.
Like a Christmas tree, I was briefly used at a being's convenience, but now my time is up; my bright and full heart has been locked away in the cupboard of sorrow, crippled, left to shrink.
I sympathize with the next victim, awaiting to have their love sapped, their palette of colour, smeared, by her brush of negligence.
How my heart still yearns to be sapped further by this charismatic leech. She still enchants me, a strange irony, it is.
However I must terminate myself, from further suffering and pick my routes wisely, for this heart of mine can only afford to leak so much blood.