Illusionist.

I hope you know the state you left me in.
Its not really one any sane person would be comfortable with.
The words you said; that stuck like a pin.
Our entire love was fake: A myth.

The worst part though I think is realizing all the lies,
Things the lust kept hidden but are now revealed.
Please explain to me, what was I in your eyes?
But I promise, I’ll keep your tricks concealed.

Don't worry Mr. Magician.
I know a prestidigitator never tells how he does a trick,
And I’ll let you awe them with your apparition.
I wonder if its good that whenever I hear your name I feel sick.

I still can't believe I bought into those lies you fed me.
I'm really not like that; I guess I thought I could let you in.
I've never gotten too close to anyone; I stayed fairly detached and free,
I guess I don't know you the way I thought; I guess you win.

I didn’t expect us to last forever; Or to do everything we talked about,
But I think part of me wished we would have,
I can’t believe that I believed you when you said you loved me; but not anymore I’m out
Don’t toy with me the little I do know about you isn’t really great and I don’t even know one halve.

You won't be forgotten easily, or probably at all.
But like I told you that day; Don't worry about me, I’ll get over it, you live your life and I’ll stay right here.
Not to say I didn't cry, I did after you said those words and walked away I started to bawl.
All I could do was breathe deeply and tell myself “You can’t take the pain, don’t go after him dear".

You said you’d miss my laugh the most, but you left me; it was your choice
Again, I’ll get over it; No actually I won’t, but I can make it seem like I did, it’s a drawback.
And I promised we would always stay friends, but that won’t work when I cry every time I hear your voice.
But please remember, you let me go, I just flew. But if you ever want me to, I’ll always come back.

I guess what I really want is a proper goodbye; a kiss of death type thing.
I know I’m to young to say this but, I love you, after all we went through I know it’s true
I’m not quite sure how the words that you say are so much like a bee sting.
And I wonder if you believe that I wrote this poem crying; but those were the very last tears; I’m through.