It’s a shame that you don’t love me like I love you. A misfortune for me, it is, more than it is for you.
I’ve chopped up my hair. Went two shades of blue and green, one crimson and grey, light petals of pink to detach myself from you.
I have become broken down memoirs of you. You’ve shaped me into shattered speckles of a kaleidoscope. Sharp edges with dull colors, a recapture of all my failures.