That feeling I get when I obscure what's true, that feeling is you.

When I feel the impulse I know is the death of me, the draw towards destruction, that feeling is you.

When I think back to back then, when I didn't know what was good for me, when I didn't know what a real man was; when a distant, guitar- clad look and an aim to go nowhere was a teenage libido driven by a fantasy.

So much has changed since them, about eight years gone by. When you first began manipulating me, I felt like I would die. The giver I was, undisciplined in self-worth and chasing after a lost, broken boy. I gave you my affection and attention, which you in-turn treated as a toy.

I don't blame you altogether for it, I don't think you loved yourself either. I think you saw a source of physical completion, a misdirected ****** force.

Neither of us really cared about one another, it was just an silly high school thing. Your depression became my project, and I became a useful thing.

We don't talk anymore, we may be friends on social media, I'm not even sure. But when I think back to carelessness, face-value affection and the time in my life when I lost myself in a bad thing, there is one thing I can undeniably conclude.

That feeling was you.