I am sitting here, in this living room.
    Thinking about things that does not belong to me.
    These matters are not mine, but I still think.
    Harder and harder, deeper and deeper.

    What is so special about these thoughts?
    The topic of love, of which I cannot help with.
    Experience, stamina and intellect.
    I'm getting a headache.

    Why must certain things be so difficult?
    It's hard to let go. Love seems to control you.
    Define love.
    No accurate definition exist.

    Sleepless nights seem to get one.
    Words traded by two.
    Feelings shared by three.
    The headache turns into a migraine.

    What makes you so special?
    What makes you 'the one'?
    What makes this come true?
    And why are you holding onto it?

    You wrap your fingers around.
    Around the balls of the person.
    You grin and you narrow your eyes.
    Then you rip 'em off with all your strength.

    A title is what you need.
    A title is what you will get.
    A title which might seem true.
    A title such as Destroyer of Life.

    Keep you to yourself.
    Delete all contact information.
    Purge your mind of the past.
    And get lost.

    You are not needed.
    You were never needed.
    You will never be needed.
    I'll see you in hell.

    This is the last chapter.
    You are no longer welcome.
    Like a great man once said;
    "O for ever Farewell"