Dear heartbreakee,

I cannot carry this

responsibility of loving you,

for I am nothing more

than an ephemeral infatuation

woven with fake hopes and lies;

I am a destructive grenade

waiting to detonate

upon my own triggers.

We have drawn a blueprint,

every inch of our paradise,

and we have saved our wishes

for one ultimate get-together;

I have blown our chances,

so now gone all the romance

— gone with the wind.

I have felt it, I really did,

but the spark gradually faded,

so the only remnant left from

our forsaken nirvana:

two cocaine hearts

cursed into stone.

.

I am not the man for you,

you deserve better;

I am too filthy to be loved.

With forgotten love,

heartbreaker.