You left me there to rot without ever picking me up from the ground. I was dirt and you were the florist. I was the song and you were the artist. You were the murderer and I was the victim. And I died watching you live. 

My heart burns with aching sorrow that only you can fix. It burns like the first time taking a hit of smoke. Smoke suffocating my lungs, like the fire from hell is inside my chest. The demons, clawing its way out, working its will. Tearing me from inside, while I try to hide the pain. The devil is trying to break me down.

And I can no longer breath.