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Forget me not, lest you be forgotten. The words replay in my mind, a mantra, a delicate cadence that I cling to. It is so breathtakingly beautiful, and yet so bitter. Pour upon me your vengeance, your self-conceit, and your rage. I will gratefully endure it, lather it upon myself, and lap up the remnants so that none are wasted. It means nothing so long as you look upon me and see something more than a stranger.

Forget me not. Do not let these words become my poison, my death. Do not let me lie alone night after embittered night. I wish only to listen to the beats of your heart, not the silence. I wish only to feel the warmth of you beside me, not this chill that slowly finds its way to my bones. Is there no comfort left to be found in my bosom? Have I merely been cheapened to such a state of vulgarity that you find not the slightest merit?

Forget me not. So tortured am I! These lips will never again taste such sweetness. These ears will never again be tantalized by your rich timbres. These hands will never again find solace in your own. This heart, this heart will never again find completeness. Mine eyes, however, will forever keep you, so that I will never fail to remember.

Forget me not. Oh, how I loathe those words! That perfectly crafted lie you once had uttered unto me. If but the fire of God would descend and envelop you, would I know justice. If but the incarnate evil from the depths of hell would come claim your soul, then I would feel justice. It was you who was guilty. You thought nothing of committing the basest of sins.

Forget me not. How many times did you kill me in your heart, so you could do just that?
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