Ruined Art

He tells me that I am kind, and that I am sweet. He tells me that I am beautiful, and always recites "no one can compete". He uses his words, as a means to my heart. Rebuilding my mind, as if I'm his art. Showering me with love and affection; Sitting here, wishing there was a detection. Something big, or even something small; Anything would've been better than nothing at all. Comfortability begins to set in, and everything begins to change. Slowly becoming more strict, my thoughts on love are already rearranged. Vulnerability, that's what he's aiming for. Creating the perfect doll, that can't think for herself anymore. Attention, that's all he really craves. He desires to be acknowledged, that must be the reason he misbehaves. Being respectful when in public, but quite the opposite when secluded. "I'm just kidding", he says; His words are deluded. Waving "us" around, loving just the compliments. Is that really all that it represents? It's the only love I knew, so it's the love I tried to keep. He told me that I was kind, and he told me that I was sweet. He used his words, as a means to my heart. Little did he know, that he'd ruin his art.