I’ve been punctured by the knife of humanity.

Why have you done this?
What was your purpose?

Why did you
say that,
why did you
backstab me…
Why did I
trust you?

I thought we were friends,
you and I.
But your pathetic excuse
of what you called friendship,
was just another deceitful
lie that came rolling
out of your intoxicated
wasteland you call a mouth.
You declared you hate me;
I stole your life you said.
You wanted revenge,
that was your excuse.
Well your lack of intelligence
has driven you:
driven you over
the edge of forgivable.

Do you really hate me?

Do I invoke a burning, undying desire in you
to lash out unmercifully against any form of innocence?
Do I tear scars into your soul
with every breath, every sentence,
every word I speak?
Does my very presence produce a foul aura that swallows, consumes, engulfs, drowns out
every joy and feasts on
every dream imaginable?
Does your mind cringe at the mention of my name, and does your throat
howl in rage every time your vocal cords bare my sickening essence of an identity?
Do I make you think of nothing else, nothing but all of the possible comforts the shadow-plagued reaches of Hell could offer?

If I do, then you have done no soul any unjust harm,
but if I don’t, then may
your ancestors spit
on your grave
and curse at the pathetic corpse
which housed no soul at all.

Were you jealous of mine?

Or did your demonic heart
dominate your actions in a bloodthirsty slaughter
of my well-being?
I wish I could say I held out against this surge of inexcusable injustices,
but here I lie,
decimated.

You broke my fortitude, my will, me.

My existence raped,
while the eyes of the world
watched,
gaping at your relentless acts,
yet doing nothing.

I am now a hollow shell.

A dying ember
amongst a blizzard.

A teardrop
in a waterfall.

No one will help me.
No one can help me.

It’s because of you.

All because you “hate” me.