Every time I see a photograph of you I realize just how much my initial attraction to you was a joke. What a lie I was living those days—you're not my type whatsoever.




It doesn't matter that you wear caps to cover the hair I hate.
I hate that you don't need me anymore.
But I love that my feelings for you are slowly dying.

You pretend to be a master of disguise
While I prepare the surprise
That will ultimately cause

Our demise.