Dear D.

Sometimes, you motherfuckers make me want to slit my wrists.

Yes, I mean you. Hard to believe that you have had such an impact on me, isn't is? I just want to take my fucking blade and boom. There I go again. Dead and alone in the world. So hard to believe that your simple little way of doing things has pushed me over the edge.

It was always about you, never about me. I tried so fucking hard to make it so I could take care of you and take care of myself. But no. You had to always make it all about you. Yes, something bad happens. Yes, I know you aren't dealing with it. Yes, I know all about. Yes, it sucked that it had to turn out this way, but that hardly gives you the right to act the way you are. Who do you think you are anyway? The world will not stop and change itself just for you. A concept isn't it?

I gave you something special and I barely got a thank you. I tried to look out for you and all I got was a bitching. Not cool. Not cool at all.

Sometimes you motherfuckers make me want to slit my wrist.

Yes, it is cold to know that this'd is how I feel. It probably shouldn't have ever gotten this bad. But you pushed me away and now I feel as if I have lost someone that means a lot to me.

No, it is not all about you.

Hard to believe I know.

And if you do not shape up, I will not be the only one to leave. I will not be the only one to walk away. These other people hardly care about you the way I do.

Hard to believe I know.

They are just using you for some obscene purpose I cannot see. I am not pitying you anymore. I tried, I really tried.

Sometimes...

You motherfuckers make me want to slit my wrist.

But no, it's not all about you. Not at all.

Hard to believe I know.