Saturday, 20 November 2010

He'll never even read this

We were never friends. You just used that theory. You used it because you knew I believed in you when no one else would. I tried to honour what I thought I saw in you. But there is nothing. No anguish. No doubt. No fear that you are less than you are. And yet, you are. Not just because you let her down so badly, but because you destroyed what little hope you inspired in people who wanted so badly for you to become a better person.

People like you have no soul - you can't become a better person. I made excuse after excuse for you. I tried so hard to justify your behaviour when what I should have done is tell you repeatedly what a prick you really are. More fool me. But no more. Go and destroy yourself with self pity, knowing you will always drive away the people who care because you love to play the tortured artist. Pity yourself, the vapid shallow thing you are, pretending to be so sad to hide the fact you are devoid of an actual personality. Go on, surround yourself with fake friends, people you use as much as they use you, because your whole life is about keeping up the act. Don't let anyone get too close, lest they find out the truth about how empty you are.

But most of all, know this. Keep in your mind, that if you, yet again, go near the people I love, real people with real feelings - I will end you. You are little more than a husk now, of very little importance, but you fuck with me, I guarantee you'll be nothing more than a bad memory. Go play your sad song somewhere else, because no one here wants to hear the tune you play.

Like you said last night, poor little anguished boy, goodbye forever. Or, my words - fuck off. Run away. You're good at running from the truth, aren't you?