It Has Come To This

Every emotion has come to surface. I am through with the control I allow you to have. That of which makes me miserable.

If there is only one feeling I can pinpoint, it is the feeling that I wish you were dead.

It used to be I could not picture my world without you.

Now I have so much hatred and anger, it has come to this.

Why do you get away with what you do to me? You should not be allowed to get away with it.

The only hope that keeps me going is that one day you will parish. With luck on my side, the means will be agonizing and mercilessly slow.

I suspect I will be without compassion. For you have shown none toward me.

I will revel in the moment.

For now, I wish you were dead.