You seemed to find a sick satisfaction in crossing lines.

You loved sprinting past them.

You loved making me draw new ones.

For the purpose of ignoring them.

You also loved manipulation.

Loved keeping me as your pet,

As the kitten you found in a wet cardboard box.

You kept me even as you found the pure-bred dogs.

You ran past the lines I so carefully drew,

Every single time.

Every day you somehow managed to make me stay.

When I knew I hated it.

But yet, nobody called you out.

Not one of your many exes.

Not your parents.

None of your friends.

You left me wondering,

When does a man become a monster?