If I speak the truth,
Under the cold light of the moon,
I wish I had never met you.

You painted yourself a saint—
Sweet, devoted, promising the world.
But you were a thief,
Taking everything from me,
Leaving nothing but emptiness.

You called yourself a stranger,
Hoping I'd forget,
So you could slip away
Unscathed by the damage you'd done.
When I tried to speak the truth,
No one believed me—
You wove lies so carefully,
That even those I trusted were blind to the real story.

You made me the villain,
When you knew I had just clawed my way out of darkness—
A hole I’d spent years buried in,
Only for you to shove me back inside,
With your cold indifference.
You abandoned me the moment you grew tired,
Ignoring my cries,
My pain,
My fight.

Again, I say—
I regret meeting you.
I wish I could erase you,
Every shadow of you,
Every trace of your presence.
I never want to see you again.