Murder by murder

You should be dead to me just as I’m dead to you.
I have to kill my feels ’cause your words were not true.
With every love I have to kill inside my heart —
because it’s unwanted — is murdered a great part
of my hope of ever finding a single one
that would be allowed to survive, escape the ban
imposed by guys on my love interest in them.
Each time I do so, I slowly and surely am
committing a suicide, because I tend to love
too much and lastingly, unfortunately, now
and again only guys who don’t appreciate
my tender feels for them, rather fear them and hate.
No matter what I do, my dreams never come true.
Every such failed romance breaks my heart through and through,
until it’s reduced to nothing more beyond a
mere blood-pumping organ one closely future day.
If it didn’t rid me of life literally,
I’d rip it out of my chest and then, willingly,
throw it as far away as I can forever,
so that it’s certain to be found again never,
before it murders me in soul and life spirit,
because a ton of scars anyway covers it,
thus it already is beyond recognition.
Unreturned love is the most deadly munition.