Don't you dare ruin her again.
This girl means everything to me and if you are ever the cause of her tears then I swear to you I will **** you will my bare hands.
There is a difference between love and lust and I can see that you only want lust.
Everyone can see it.
Everyone except her.
She is blinded by love.
I want to grab her and scream, "Open your eyes. He's using you."
But that would make her sad and the last thing I want is to make her sad.
Ha.
You're clever aren't you?
Picking a vulnerable, loving girl to fill your ****** desires because she won't suspect a thing.
That's low even for you.
Boy, you are so lucky she loves you as much as she does.
How do you live with yourself?
How do you sleep at night knowing that you are filling her head with the idea that you love her when in reality you would leave within a split second.
I've never once heard you tell her you loved her.
That's because you don't love her, you arrogant ****.
If you loved her then you wouldn't be "overly friendly" with other girls.
If you loved her you wouldn't make her change to fit your standards.
If you loved her you wouldn't be the reason she used to sit alone at night crying about how you don't love her.
I hope you rot in Hell.
In fact, I'll take you there myself.

<a.t>

"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother shook her head and chuckled.
"Don't worry. It's all in your head, sweetie."
She tucked me in, kissed my forehead and laid beside me until I fell asleep.
I was four.

"Mama, I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother shook her head and sighed.
"There aren't any monsters. It's all in your head."
She tucked me in, kissed my forehead then went to bed.
I was ten.

"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
Mother would leave the room without saying a word.
I never saw her much after that.
I was fourteen.

"I can't sleep. There are monsters," I would say.
No one would listen.
"It's your head," the doctors would say.
Nurses gave me pills to help me fall asleep.
I was seventeen.

"I can't slee-" They wouldn't let me finish my sentence.
Nurses rushed in to strap me into the bed.
They injected something into my arm to make me fall asleep.
I never made it to eighteen.

<a.t>

I'm just so tired of people telling me to pull myself back up while they're standing on the surface and I'm hanging off the ledge.
My arms are getting sore,
And my fingers are losing their grip,
And my back is aching,
But all this feels like nothing compared to the feeling of my lungs collapsing,
And my brain exploding with endless thoughts,
And my heart being torn out of my chest.
I'm just so **** tired of waiting for someone to help me up.
Falling doesn't seem like such a bad idea at this point.
...So what's the point of holding on when I'd rather let go?

<a.t>