My intention with these words is that I can spit out some of the acid within to burn you. Fuck you, you and every iteration. I have seen your type. As you flock as if my blood is to your taste. I owe you nothing.
My peace will no longer be a non-priority. As you flubber through life as if your lack of love received or “disconnect” from others justifies your actions. The only harmed. If only your father cared more. Always someone else’s fault. I don’t care about your story; I don’t care if a supposed god did every terrible thing imaginable to you; you in turn have caused harm. Making yourself a god of my damnation, just to turn and wallowing in your shame of self. Less than human. Your inconsistency boils me. The idea that I am at fault for not returning your care. That it is owed. A connection curated in your head alone.
I hope you find this. But knowing your type, you’d fold into selfish self-pity. “How putrid am I”. Aware enough to feel shame, but never enough to change. Because you just can’t help it.
I want nothing from you. No apology, no change. You are unimportant to me. God is not real, and neither are you really. No longer offering myself to feed. Killing any connection, to turn and look at me with tears in your eyes. The game that has been nurtured within you. Your sick genes.
I imagine even you reading this feels I am a “cunt” or “too harsh”. I hope you to burn at these words, because they were meant for you as well.
Unlearn or Burn,
I do not care.