Never before have seven letters expressed more, that a wretched gift for you, my dear.

Never before have two words been so accurate, as they are pinned to your twisted head, my dear.

Your beautiful eyes, warm like the stare...from a settling corpse.

Your slight caress, subtle yet firm, like that of reptilian touch.

My hate for you is the sentiment of today, borne but yesterday, yet headed toward tomorrow, but never to reach the destination of your foolish eyes closed.

Your rotting carcass, left to wither, in the wind of the night.

Your tainted sould, jaded and running, guided slowly to the dawn.

Fuck off.

Never before have seven letters proved to worthy than as a death wrapped note to you, my dear.