I hate you.
I’d be offended if that wasn’t mutual.
Your eyes are cold, your heart is non-existent.
And you’re the direct opposite; annoyingly optimistic.
You don’t feel, you shut everybody out.
Can you blame me? You get hurt all the time by letting them in.
There’s nothing wrong with that.
There’s everything wrong with that. Pain, disappointment, need I go on?
Love, laughter, general happiness-
Oh please, spare me your naïve hippie wiles.
You’d feel the same if everything wasn’t a game to you. Must you always win?
Of course I must, of course I must, I do not like to lose.
Isn’t it more about just being in the game?
No it’s not. That’s just what the losers say to make themselves feel better.
I feel sorry for you, unfeeling, narcissistic bitch.
Ha! Is this the part I pretend your words hurt me?
I know they do, remember I’m you too.
And if you are then you’re a bitch too.
I hate you.
I don’t blame you. If I were you I’d hate me too.
But I am. But I don’t want to be.
But you are and I’m all you’ll ever be.
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