I stopped eating when you cook,

And complimenting your look.

I say things that make you cry,

And you say you don't know why.

You say I'm hateful,

And always ungrateful,

You think I don't know,

What happens when I go.

You think he's a secret, one that is well kept,

So you think I don't know that with him you have slept.

I know more than I say; I know more than I see,

I know that the food and looks isn't for me.

You have freely shared what you swore would be mine,

But what lies between love and hate is a very thin line.

My love for you has died and rotted,

Now with my hate, your death I have plotted.

Tell me though, before your heart with bullets I stuff,

Why is it that my love just wasn't enough?

Am I too kind, do I love too strong?

Or am I wrong for loving you, maybe 10 years too long?