Not For You

     Maybe it's about you, but it's not for you. NEVER, never would I ever write for you. I write, like a selfish brat I am, for myself. If I feel suicidal, I'll write so. If I'm happy, I'll write so. If I think you're a hopeless retard, I'll write so. If I want you, If I no longer want you, If I care about others, If I don't, If I love life, If I don't. I'll write so. i wont write to make you feel any less sad, to make you feel any less suicidal.  I don't write with fancy words, I don't write motivational quotes, for I think all of them are bullshit. I don't write to cheer you on with life. Life is shit, that's it. A heartbreaker, they never keep their end of the deal. There will always be something going wrong, instead. I don't write to insult those who do an awful lot of trash talking, for they have no mind and heart to take what I say to think about. I don't write to make you see how shitty it is to be me, because I'm sure you have it worse, because you have to make me feel shitty just for the sake of you feeling better of yourself. I don't write to gain viewers, for that amount, those numbers, shows the number of judgement people have craved onto me. I don't write to relieve myself from stress, for writing only leaves me emptier than before. I don't write to lessen the burden I have on my mind, for writing only leaves me with more thought than before. I wont write to make you feel happy, maybe deep inside my heart, I want to drag you down with my sadness. I want you to be with me, in the corner of the world, so that I could leave you there and lock you up. Deep inside my heart, I want to break you. I don't want you to be happy, not without me. I don't want you to be happy, even when you're with me. I want you to be happy without me knowing, so that I don't feel this burning sensation inside my heart. I want to break you, honey, so so so badly.

      You're right, I don't have any reason. It's just something that has become a habit, to write, even for nothing, just... write.

     And when I said that you made me feel psychotic, I mean it. I feel less and less sociable than before, although I still have to keep that cheerful and idiotic side of mine to survive school. If it's not for that little bit of sanity I have left in the back of my mind, I would have already killed people. I would kill you. Out of jealousy. My biggest deadly sin. Why do you have everything in your life, that I wanted? Why do I have to fight so hard for something, while you, like a princess you are, could just sit there; with a banner in hand saying "I want this stuff" and people could freely, and happily, give it to you? How could you be so manipulative, yet so pure and innocent? Why, oh, why, are you alive? Why am I, too? Why do we have to go through all this? Why do I have to hate you? Why do I want to kill you? Why? Why did you blossom like a beautiful flower, with rosy cheeks and sugary lips? Why wasn't I born like you? Beautiful, the center of attention. Everybody wants you. They could give you all the happiness in the world. You were born with the silver spoon. God adores you. Why, can't I get, just a piece of your blessing?

     I know, if they could see what I think about her, about my jealousy, they would say "It's the heart that counts". But that would sound ironic, wouldn't it? When you say it right after being treated like a toy by her, with you still admiring her like you have always do. You couldn't refuse all the requests and tasks she handed to you. Because you want her attention, you want to be noticed by her. I know, really, I know how that feels. For I feel the same to you.