Let self-respect and amour-propre
Turn my ceaseless cries into whispers,
Until my heart is cleansed of your poison
And you remain only in the basement of my memory.
Because at the risk of claiming talent I do not have,
I recognise that my words give you more power
Than you have the right to claim, and in that we forget
That the admiration you inspire comes from my depiction.
I will not let the pain you caused me become my legacy,
Because if talent inspires immortality then you are but an infant,
And you are not worthy to be my muse, or a love to be revered,
Just someone I once knew, someone I’ve since forgotten.