What am I supposed to do,

Pretend to be fine with you?

That's not my style, never was

Here's what your poetry does:

-

Lines adhere and form a knife

Then attempt to take my life

I'm left bloodied and battered

My feelings never mattered

-

Don't you get it, don't you see?

That jerk meant the world to me

I understand all you say

He and I were once that way

-

Go on, write about his voice

I'll just cope; I have no choice

At the risk of sounding crass

Your love story, too, shall pass