That seeing you would hurt.

That I'd want to peirce my flesh with a blade.

That the flow of blood would feel good.

That your love for me would fade. 

That I would want to die.

That love songs would make me cry.

That my best friend was competition.

That your every word was a lie.

That I'd eventually brush you off.

That I would get over it.

That I would be done with tears.

That  I wouldn't mind a bit,

That you would be done.