Black Ink

Have you ever been truly hated?
Can I please be the first; to pass onto you my malevolence and blame on
you my lack of sleep.
Impress onto your sole the blackened ink of which I write my desolate
words.
Tear from me the weakened flesh that ever let you in.
The days I have laid dead, attribute them all to you, along with the
wounds now healed but scar; a constant reminder of your condescending
sneer - hardly good enough for you my dear.

Can I destroy you, wipe you from the existence of my mind, my hopeful
despair in realising that you are still there, unaltered, by the
vicious act between us.
The brutal disregard for the love of each other, the physical burden so
often held dear, searing through my senses ripping away all feelings of
modesty; pure, malicious, horrendous scars were made that moment.

I hate you, but please don't go; I'm lost here without you.
You killed me, I'm dead but please come back, please kill me
again.
I'm not quite dead yet.