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I am hurt,I want to cry my lungs out,
But something holds me back,
Its not love,I know,
Love does not make your blood run fast trough your veins in anger. 

It's something that was born,
When you proved your love,
To be as fake as a mirage....
Something that was nourished,
When you prove you can be 
As painful as fangs piercing through the body.
Something that was seasoned-
By your emotions,
As malleable as a meandering river.

I urge to hurt myself to death
To blow off the fickering wick of my life
But that "something" prevents me form doing so...
it prvents me fron dying such a PRICELESS cause like you.
It is that "something" which makes it difficult for me,
To take simple decissions.
"Something",which allows me to pray for you
But pray,for your destruction.
"Something" which is playing a tug of war
With my conscience and self control .
That something says that before I blow off the wick of my life,
I should oil it,
So that it burns brightly for one last time.

It is this "something" which has made me commit such a sweet crime,
I am sorry dear.
It is this "something" which made me steal the knife 
And silently stab you to death,in the dead of the night.
Your trembling body....slowly bleeding to death
Is now making me realise,what this "something was" ..
It was the hatred that had bred against you over the pages of time
The hatred,which now fully nourished by the revenge
Is departing from me along with your soul
Leaving behind an imperisheble happiness in my heart.....