I write you a letter before I go but you probably won’t read it until it’s too late. That’s the beauty of life, isn’t it? The way love flows into hatred so seamlessly you don’t know it’s happened until it’s too late. Tenderness switches to anger like the flip of a switch and I want to rip your eyes out of your head. Don’t I deserve a thank you?

I want to sink my teeth into your skin but my jaw isn’t strong enough to draw blood but that’s all I want from you. I want to taste it and feel it dripping down my chin. I’ll compromise and stand in the middle of the road but you wont know because you don’t look back.

I used to think I wasn’t angry, I was gentle. But now the only gentle thing about me is how I’ll treat your ****** limbs after I rip them from your body. Why are you surprised? I’m not that good of an actor.

I didn’t cry leaving them and I won’t cry leaving you
I can’t stay
And I usually don’t want to.

You said I knew you better. I can’t remember if you were holding my hands. You probably weren’t but in my head you were. I bet it’s one of those things you don’t remember saying but I do. I remember this time. Was I old news? I would have looked through your eyes into your mind if I wasn’t afraid of what I’d find. Or maybe I did and I don’t remember. ******* Cinnamon Toast Crunch box. I do remember that.

I’ve never felt so at home and hated in the same place as I did in your bed. Maybe I was meant to be your ****** victim. God knows I deserve it. Your sheets would look good red.

I’ve always been jealous of you but I convinced myself it was love. Maybe it was love, but not in the right way. Maybe it was whatever kind of love coexists with the urge to take a knife to your face. When I think about kissing you it ends with me swallowing you whole.