That Con

If perhaps I still love her, 

Then I hate her as well...

Looking upon her shell, 

And glimpses reveal me moments of memories, 

And moments of memories more, 

Sweet, followed by bitter, 

As together, the picture collides to assemble itself 

In my memory bank. 

The used was just as real as the love, 

But I think, it must have been not...

So if anybody ever loved, 

Then perhaps it was I. 

Now, hence, a replacement of hate...

Because lies coagulated entire sceneries 

Of 5 months a fantasy 

I turned eyes from. 

But if I hate her, it is because I love her. 

The kind of love, that doesn't fade, but indeed may change...

As it has. 

I love her, because I know her...

Because I love her. 

No explaination, and even undeserving...

Yet..

Fault and all, I love her, as I have loved her, 

Yet this day,

I allow the hate to flood, for never had I thought, she would do, 

What she did...

Nay, though, for I was the fool- 

Never her. 

Her skin is bright with cloak, and reveals broken charms for all sorts of arms; 

It was I, 

Who did not see. 

Now that I have, I forgive thee...

But ne'er may she have again, 

What she had stolen and taken away from me. 

I was a fool, valiant in my own victim, 

Easy prey...

And she preyed without thought, 

Because I was easy for it. 

"Friend" in her world, the kind of word that has no shadow, no value, no existence; dropped in an instance, 

The word no more than the man. 

Spoken, forgotten. 

Never meant a thing. 

I squeezed life, from her existence in me. 

I loved how she frayed, and then one day, finally, all shadows with Greys, merely feigned to black. 

I became parched, and dry, and dead...

And looking around..

No head. 

No heart, no eyes in sight...

"Friend"'s appeared out of a deafening light..shaking the earth, I could barely see, the hands that reached for me. 

And as I was given reach up, nay, she was nowhere to be seen...

Even after all she's stolen..

Dreams, and hearts colliding..

As what she'd taken from me. 

Her eyes bright with love, my illusion. My memory of her loving me. She'd stolen away with that, as though my heart were Gold...

Never to be seen again. 

Con..

Artist. 

Con. 

Artist. 

So many cons. 

This artist. This love. This love of mine. 

If I hate her, 

It is because I love her. 

I still love her. 

I may always love her. 

She was beautiful to me. 

And simply now...

I am happy 

To shatter, 

     That dream.