Ex

I told myself I wouldn't waste a memory on you, not even in passing.

And even if I did I would pray it was run down by a train of thought.

I existed in a mythical sense, Aesop wrote the script complete with a moral.

I learn my lesson, got burned by the  levels of hell that I went through.

Maybe I sound bitter, shoo the greys away with dark liquors but that would only cloud my vision and the over hangs honestly rain on your boy's parade.

Found love in loathing, loved you when I was lonesome but swore there was nothing without you in the frame.

But when the filmed develops, they will be no reflection of us.  Just scars and bite marks from where the Succubus struck.