Are you ever going to pick your sharp and shattered pieces off that floor which you so enjoy crawling on? Will you spare me the necessity of having to perform for you the empty act of silhouetting sympathy? Black in its nature, the only reason I would ever display such a meaningful delectation to you is when I’m good and sure that you’ll stay around for another fun round of harsh words and leather belt lashings with a whip consisting of only the most delectable, searing, sour words and falsely promised phrases extracted from the very tip of my freezer-burned heart. Clinging to my every move, I do not understand why you can’t see the putrid hatred that is reflected in the black pits of my dilated pupils. Don’t you see into the ever clearing future and find that you will have that icicle that I keep in the back of my freezer through your heart by the time You discover there is no longer you and me together.