Of Course.

Perhaps in shorter time
In lesser words or foolish rhyme
I could tell you i'm sorry, forgive me?
But i think that you might just shrug,
Snicker with some wicked glee,
And say, rather smug:

"Of Course.

I mean, that's how you always are,
Playing one way but not too far
Because behind my back
Where i have no eyes
You have another act
You go back to (again with lies).

Of course you would,
You impish Hud.
You act like all of them
The selfish men
While our hearts are taken, crushed,
Or more like mud properly mushed." 
(The writer must take a break from prose and explore the idea that our current narrator indeed believes that their heart was originally, in fact, mud.)

So where are we now?
I ask with one raised brow,
If i'm sorry isn't good enough.
You seem to be content with sin,
My deeds have come from within,
And now your attitude has me mad enough to cuss.

Of course.

I do believe here lies wickedness,
A fashionable state of unforgiveness,
And so the devil plays upon
Both the broken and the proud.

"How?" you ask, but not too fast
For fear i may just smile playfully,
And leave you thinking, perhaps aghast...
But we'd both agree the ending ending most distastefully.

Of course.