Part of me wants you to apologize, but another part of me would want to beat your skull in if you did. Words can’t describe how sick you make me. To talk about your pain while intentionally trying to inflict it on others.

How do you not feel sick in your own skin?

Aren’t you tired? Attacking every one you’re supposed to care about? Doesn’t it hurt to not be able to relax? Do you lie to everyone? Or were we just the unlucky ones?

How do you keep your web so neat while string others along and wrapping them up in it? Does everyone get the same version, or do you weave a different story each time?

In the end, I know I’m the fool, but I was really starting to trust in you. I just thought that things would be different when I touched the stove this time. Or at least my heart hoped it would.

I could never even imagine trying to do the things you do. Do you care for anyone at all? We were your friends. Or I thought we were. A friend wouldn’t do what you did.

Maybe my boundaries weren’t clear, but if we want to talk about true natures here. I don’t even consider you human.