Your personality mutated into something unreal.
After the separation of us.
Miles and miles farther you get each day.
More mentally than physically.
I wish you wouldn't be like this.
I painted red on my arm for you.
With a razorblade brush.
But none of that matters now.
I still miss you.
More or less the old you.
When i untaped your picture from the wall.
Akuma was screaming:
"Tear it up! Tear it up!"
But i neatly folded the sticky side in.
Looked at you one last time.
And said in my mind:
"I'm sorry, but i'm going to fold this paper so that your face isn't visible."
I made it into eighths.
And placed it inside the trash.
For in two more mornings.
It'll be eaten by the teeth of a garbage truck.