Fuck you, you selfish bitch
And damn the parents who spoilt you and let you stay a
40 year old whining child
That is about all that I can say to you now
You no longer hear anything I have to say
You call when you need my money
You call when you need my sympathy
You call when you want an emotional punching bag
I only know that most of the time I am doing pretty good
Save for when you call me
And then I can be sure that the next 12 hours will be filled with
Anger
Fear
Self Recrimination
A desperation born of self loathing
And the feeling like you stole five years of my life, so that
you could live a life of laziness and self-indulgence
It is now wonder I so wanted to kill my feelings with as
much alcohol and opiates as I could swallow and snort
And a surprise that the amount I did get my hands on
did not kill me by “natural causes”
And a miracle that I did not die by mine or your hand
Although sometimes it feels like you did succeed
and kill a large part of me
The part from which my dreams once came from
The part that was filled with hope
The part that could envision a future not alone