Evers

The irony of the love poem I made for you painting you as a magician does not escape me. 

You gave me empty promises and fed me lies until I was sick with your deceit. 

If you ever stumble across this blog again, please know that from the depths of my heart I think you are a miserable piece of shit. 

I will never speak to you again. Not to argue over the girls you fucked while promising you would never hurt me that way, not to tell you I stopped loving you because I don't even know who you are. 

You have never cared for me or loved me. You are a selfish, hurtful, awful person. 

And if you gave me anything, because you put my health at risk every time you stuck your dick into someone else,

I will make you fucking regret til the day you die the moment you betrayed me. 

Now that's a promise. And I know how to keep my promises motherfucker.