You were a trick to my imagination. A bomb to my heart. Where i mourned, my better instincts only...

You were a trick to my imagination. A bomb to my heart. Where i mourned, my better instincts only got a head start. I took my flushed body, and became a stronger barrier of insults. My outside became weaker, the inside became fixed with consult. On my better days, you were all but nothing. On my weaker days, nothing, except what shined through with sincere hatrid. I took my biggest virtue, and made greater worth of my vulnerability. “If man makes himself a worm he must not complain when he is trodden on.”