Don’t miss me with your words because your words are transparent veins moving dead bile from your gut to your throat, putting putrid rot into your voice. You can slam as many doors as you like, but punishing perished wood isn’t going to bring me back to you.
I don’t live behind those doors anymore regardless of how loud a slam they make. You lost me and will never have me again. Foolishness, let it be. You were not deserving.
You’d play with my heart and watch it fault before admitting that it brought you pleasure to do so.