I was a self driving car until you siphoned off my energy for your own battery, cannibalising my parts as if they never really belonged to me. You didn't cherish, or care, or love - you stole. I can repair myself. I can be a self driving, self sustaining car again because I always was one. You... you who broke my heart... are headed for the scrap heap.
You raided my heart as if it were your emotional piggybank, then smashed it with your rage when it was all gone.
When I'd stood in the poison day after day, placing stepping stones so you would never need to, you panicked and stood upon my head, content to watch me drown. That's real heartbreak. That's the kind that kills.
I braved the coldest of winters to bring you my own blankets, only to find that when you no longer needed my help, you were willing to burn down my entire house. You broke my heart. I won't be back.
I walked every broken pathway for you, trying my best to remove the sharp flints as I went, only to find that upon your arrival you promptly began to stone me to death in some fit of envy.
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