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Wether you valued it at 10 or 1000
Wether you spoke of her with love
or of me with spite.

Wether the times I looked for/found him were many or few.
Wether or not I stayed in that room for more than five hours.
Wether or not you were with me when you payed for the vile.

Wether I took the blame or not, for naught.

You are
and will remain
a distant cry that needs only to be wept, heard and forgotten.

You vulgar boy, love doesn't sprout from speech but from actions.

I'll go build my nest of illusions in the embrace of a warmhearted animal
while you feast in the mud and wait for your flood of mutilated dreams and bodies.
Your lack of love will grow into a swelling void of nothing in your chest,
and kid, there's no cure for that kind of tumor just yet.