V XXVIII

I scrawled the word “annihilated” across page after page, over the top of every letter I never sent to you. Today, I pick out the prettiest one and I take it to someone new.
He’s going to scan it into his computer and level it out a little bit. Then, he’s going to fire up his gun and make me bleed for it.
Annihilated, there on my arm for everyone to see. A word that should rhyme with survival, a word that whispers insanity.
And I’ll post the photo to Instagram, think up a witty little caption too. And I sure hope you make the connection. I’ll never love anyone as much as I miss you.

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