I’m so done. With everything. I’m done trying. I’m done with people. I’m done with school, with work. I’m done getting out of bed. I’m done getting up in the morning. I’m way over well-*******-done, so pick me up and toss me out, I beg of you.

***** everyone who says they’re “there for me”. You’re only there when it’s convenient for you. I mean, I can’t blame you. I’d be the same way, if some crazy ***** with ninety-nine problems and not one friend to help came whining to me. That’s a lot to deal with, I wouldn't want to get ****** into that. That annoying laugh. That horrible skin. ****** hair. Hypocrite. ****** *****. Over-emotional, easily attached. Clingy. Hard, if not impossible, to love. Cold. Selfish. Slutty. Such an extensive past with repeating patterns over time. Reputation: worthless. Ugly. Annoying. Easily forgotten. Needs help. Wants help. Dreads help... Doesn't want help. Self-medicates, self-mutilates, self-help not found. Reliant on others. Dependent. Immature. Irresponsible. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Violent. Stupid. **** up. Messed up. No one wants a part of that. The only ones who do are desperate enough that they don’t know any better. Once they realize their mistake, they leave—Leave! Gone. Goodbye… Goodnight.

Losing him physically seemed easier to cope with than losing him mentally, I told myself.
I pictured him struggling to escape the grasp of my cold, lifeless hands, digging into his empty heart.
“Join me”, I’d say, as his writhing slowed and his complexion grew white.
“Join me” I’d whisper, as he calmed and grew silent.