You can tell me chivalry isn't dead until you're lungs cave in, but that won't make up for the fact that you slammed the door in my face.
Go ahead and promise me that you won't taint my mind as you victimize my body.
Yell at me and tell me that I need to shape up while you sit there constantly searching for who the hell you are underneath your bitter coating.
Swear that you understand just how deep my pain flows within my veins; I know that you don't have a damn clue.
I had never truly known pain until you used my biggest flaw against me.
Would you like to have a mind that paralyzes every single move you make?
They say that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but you knew the whole entire story and claimed you didn't judge me.
And maybe you didn't judge me, but you sure as hell knew how to rip every ounce of hope right out of my crippled and broken soul.
Frankly, I would have preferred a little bit of judgment.
You knew my games and you knew each individual crevice of my dark mind that so many others had no clue about.
You said you'd help me.
You promised to be my rock.
But you turned out to be nothing but a measly little grain of sand.
You used my foundation to build yourself up.
Never again will your filthy fingers trace the bumps and lines that run up and down my arms and legs.
Someday my soul will heal from the cruelty you put me through.
And some day my skin will be glowing and brand new.
It will be completely untouched from the toxins within your heart and mind that always crept into your filthy fingertips.
And you won't have had a damn thing to do with it.