Right now, I'm feeling the perfect mixture of resent and pity. I remember having the same two feelings while I was watching a moth fall through the air, in pain. I had pinched it's wings together. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I had touch it. The wings were clear in some places, but in others it sparkled, speckled with a familiar pattern. Maybe a leopard or something else like that. It's body looked stained with a blue ink. It was so weak and helpless, but ever so sightly.

Fluttering towards the ground, I got on my hands and knees to examine what was left. Underneath my finger, I spread him into ashes. I was whispering. Please forgive me. Control is a feeling I have never felt. It's not like the world is going to miss you. Everyone needs to die. The poor thing was perishing before my eyes. Shh, I told him. Nobody needs to know what happened to you. His legs were twitching in every which way. Spiritless.

Small holes were fret throughout his existance. You have to wonder what it was thinking. This hurts me more then you will ever know. That's how I felt then. Today I feel the same. This hollow, regretless torture. Try it sometime. Be the one in control. Pluck off something's wings. Rip out someone's heart. I feel like the moth. Disregard anything in your path because the only thing you care about is yourself. I want you to admit that. You are a narcissistic, self centered whore. I won't judge you. I am the same way.

Try telling somebody you hate them. Say you hate me. You can mean it this time. I always do. Imagine what the moth was thinking. Imagine dying, slowly at the hands of somebody who never gave a shit about you. Imagine being ripped apart. I want you to feel my jealousy. I want to drag you down.

You could solve every problem for me right now. Pinch my wings. Tear me apart. I want to feel everything that was felt by that worthless little moth. I want to be treated like the world would never miss me. That's how I feel, so treat me that way. Spread my ashes across the floor. Spread me like a disease. You never actually cared about anyone but yourself. Did you?

Listen, it's not like I'm looking for your acceptance. All I really want is to be destroyed. Insects are the least loved of all things. They are the only things I can relate to anymore. Ruin me. This world is praying for my death.

With an outlook like that, who wants me here?