You put me at your mercy.
You yell at me and call me names.
I’m tired of you
continuously sapping my emotions, ripping me apart until my eyes bleed
fresh, clear water.

You kill me. Inside and out.
You make me want to hurt myself, to turn my music up so loud I can’t hear you.
One day, I’ll do it.
The thing I’ve wanted to do since I understood your swearing and horrible nicknames:
I’ll run.
I’ll run because I can’t do anything to hurt you. Hurting you would leave me sinking
to your despicable level.
It would live with me for too long and
drive me to the point of guilt-ridden insanity.

You make me want to cry. To shed a thousand and three tears.
The last three spelling out what my heart continues to scream:
Leave me alone…

I hate crying, you know.
And you make me do it.
You make me cry.