I hate you.
I hate the fact that you can tear apart my relationship with my best friend and walk away from it unscathed.
I hate that I loved you
I hate that I wrote poems about you
I hate how scummy you are, and how innocent you seemed.
I hate the things we did
I hate that I wanted to give my virginity to you.
I hate that I almost did…several times.
I hate that I didn’t listen to what anyone told me.
I hate how stupid I must seem to everyone.
I hate how I hate myself.
Because of you.
I hope you go to jail for domestic abuse, no matter how crazy your sister is. I hope (and you better, too) that I don’t see you again, or talk to you again, because when I do I’m going to land a kick square in those pretty little testicles of yours.
And if it wouldn’t tear apart your poor mother, I’d say I hope you DO overdose on Vicodin. But your mother is far too sweet to have such horribly rotten kids, and her life is tough enough already.
I can’t believe I defended you all those times either. You’re nothing but a waste of life, skin, and space. You’re nothing better than something I’d wipe off the bottom of my shoe.
Scratch that, you’re worse. Much worse.
E.T.H., I hate you.
If I could write to the sky and beyond, in every language on every planet in every galaxy in the universe how much I despiseloathedetestabhorhate you, I would.
your loving ex.