Old Times.

She is, I am.
Have no words nor
Strength to explain,
Soul belies my vain intent and
Lies I grain.

Palely wonder to believe
What I see, how I feel
Though mock on me as
What'd been feed.

There is love and hate-to-ME
Nourishing my betrayal to all who
Saw, dragged, said and heard,
Had been gentle to a bastard not deserved.

She does, I have.
To write a thank you note to farewell
In an ugly hand-write sole despite,
With anger, desire, love and cry,
Bind the Past and Now to end the Rhyme.

"Excuse ME," I say,
"MAX-ME must die."

Whoever see this, you may come to see ME.