In this, I'm dying. In this, I'm alone. In this, there's nothing more you can say. In this, I've never been so fake. In this, this catastrophe disguised. In this, I shall end. Everytime you cry to me, it makes me hate you more. The hatred grows from the seeds of pity. This relentless ache that you create in every bone my body holds is killing from the inside. My mind is overwhelmed with your naive obsession. You want a trophy, you want something to show. You claim this undying love, please take it back, give it to someone else. I'm drowning under the weight of your life-long cliche.