It

I'm not going to be
It,
Your silly little
Toy
That you only
Play with
When you merely are
Bored.
Fuck all your shit
And fuck being your
Plaything.
I'm not going to be
It
Anymore.

I'm tired of hearing
It,
All your
Excuses and
Stories,
Your precious little
Fables
By which you
Hide behind.
Fuck being fed constant
Bitter-tasting
Pseudo-truths.
Fuck your shit.
I'm tired of
It.

I'm done with
All
Of this,
These pathetic and
Childish
Games that are played
Strictly by
Your
Rules.
You want to
Push
Someone around?
It
Ain't
Going to be
Me
Anymore.
Again.
Ever.

It
Is all boiling
Down to a
Point,
One that's
Sharp
As a sword and
Cuts
Just as deep.
Fuck being your
Pincushion.
I refuse to be
It
Any longer.

Love is
Not
Meant to be a
Suffering
Back-stabbing

Game of
Waiting
And
Silence.
If this is how
You
Perceive love to be,
I don't want
It.

You have pushed
Once too
Hard and
Once too
Far
And now I pack my
Things and my
Life
And retake the
Control
I once
Gave
To you.
You
No longer
Deserve
It.

We are
No
Longer
A thing.

It
Is broken.

It
Is spoiled.

It
Is ruined.

It
Is done.

This is
It.