did my kindness towards you make you even harsher with me, was it my quiet endurance that made you believe my soul was yours to fracture piece by piece, did my unwavering forgiveness fill your chest with pride, to trample me further, or was it my endless giving that made you feel entitled to take until there was nothing left, or was it the way I bled for you without protest that convinced you I was made to suffer, or was it my shattered voice, too soft to accuse, that made you believe you held no blame, or was it my love itself, blind, unguarded that you saw as your license to destroy, was it the tremble in my voice, too soft to accuse, that allowed you to walk unburdened by guilt, or was it the ease with which I carried my own ruin that emboldened you to deepen the cracks, did you find comfort in watching me crumble while you stood unscathed, did my breaking entertain you, as if I were a fragile thing meant only to be tested, did you ever see the grave you were digging inside me, or did you simply grow blind to the weight of my collapse, were my tears invisible to you, or did they gleam, did you mistake my hope for foolishness, my loyalty for blindness, my sacrifice for your right, or was my agony so silent, so soft, that you believed it didn’t exist at all, tell me, was it love you wanted or simply a place to bury your cruelty, the hollow vessel you poured your emptiness, watching it overflow until I drowned.