The Good Old Me

The good old me never cared.
The good old me was called cold.
The good old me lived life according to my timing and wish.
The good old me never cared for the indecorous hype, misuse, an over-excused thing called human feelings.
The good old me never snivel over the humanism sad news.
The good old me lived in perfect harmony with myself and me.
The good old me was the perfect species.
The good old me, see sex has a reproducing process not, “Lovemaking.”
The good old me, see men has a sperm donor and not the love of my life.
The good old me would have handed your heart back to you whilst I centuple my heart vault in the process.
The good old me wouldn’t be pathetic, derisory, feeble or easily led by her desire.
The good old me would never think nor care for the good old me.
Like a limb surgically removed, always to be felt but never to be seen.