Cleaned you up. With flower petals and rain water. Gave you a home. I knew something was up. But I let it slip past. Then I started pulling pins out the souls of my shoes. Cleaned the mud off my hardwood floors. Fixed the crooked, framed and cracked photos of us. I paid no mind to the people you let in the home I built for you.  I figured you meant no harm. But when I walked in to find you banging on my safe to get inside alongside them, it clicked. Every piece started being collected in my mind. It was becoming clearer and clearer with the more seconds I listened to you try to explain yourself. Shaking my head, I just said for you to knock it off. Strike 3 came along, then 4, then 5. I had enough. Putting your belongings from when I first welcomed you in a bag, I threw it out the window, along with the others in my house. Pushing you out the front door, saying to never come back. It was for my own good. A little while rolled past, and I missed hearing the laughter from you. I let you in. It went well at first, but you started acting strange. Constantly reminding me of who I can't be for you. Telling me how much you never look at me without even meaning to. Letting me know that you truly never cared. I snapped. I have had enough. It was too much to carry. Dropping those words you used on me to butter me up, so I could fold in at your words, I looked you square in the eyes. I told you how it was, but not what I meant. I never wanted to do this, I tried denying this as many times as I could. And once I closed my eyes, picturing my life after I get rid of the stuffed bear, you have stored it in my closet, watching me at all times. And when I opened my eyes, you gave me an innocent and relieving smile. I pulled my arm back, and knocked you square in the jaw. Leaving with my heart, with bandages wrapped around it by other people who pitied me. No more. When I got to the house I built, I went to the closet, grabbed the teddy bear and proceeded to rip it open, taking the stuffing out, making my way to the control panel. The last words that bear ever said to me was a laughing mock and cocky smile, snarling, I tore its camera eyes out, ripping it apart. As I walked by, seeing our broken photo frames. I lit my last cigarette, took a puff while pouring some battery acid from the bear and mixed it with gasoline that I bled. I light that place up, just like you lit my heart up when you said hello. And now, the last words to fall from your lips, were a short sorry with an empty smile. Walking away, I left behind what you owed me. And that was your heart and time.