You said, "I can no longer feel the butterflies when I'm with you. No wedding songs and slow mo", but she didn't shed a tear.

She listened.

"I'm sorry but I guess we aren't meant together", crashing her heart into pieces. You are once the missing pizzle but now you're the puzzle itself. She can never be complete without you but you refuse to love her.

And then she wrote a letter, a poem, a novel and a song for you. Never did she stop, because those words are the love she hoped will reach you. 

The hatred and anger in her soul.

You never cried when you break her.


But the damage will be more than tears.

You will be the poem itself. About how cruel love is, about taking for granted, about how you left her when she needed you the most. 

The words will kill you,
The poems will burn you until your heart turns into ashes.
The melodies and rhythm will hunt you until you fall asleep, then drown you with anxiety.

Her masterpiece will be your downfall.



It's the consequence of breaking a writer's heart.