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dear m,

this is it. the last hours. really just an hour and a half. after that, silence. never another word spoken. never. another. word. typed. God help you.

this weekend you’ve managed to cause total destruction. you’ve awaken your sexual desire, you’ve completely ripped yourself apart and you’ve somehow done a good enough job that even your body has taken a hit. you’ve outdone yourself this time, old friend.

it’s nice to see that old habits never truly die and that the old cliché is true: it’s like riding a bike. well, you’ve not only gotten back on the bike, you’ve just ridden a fucking marathon. it’s ironic that you are surprised to be lying at the finish line, gasping for air, trying not to vomit and writhing in pain. you are not in shape for this sort of marathon. you are out of practice.

if you intend on keeping your hard-earned issue stored away, you are going to need to start working out these specific muscles. get your mind back in the game. rest after this weekend for a bit, but not too long. this fucking thing is like a tornado. it will strike with no warning. at least take preventive measures. at the very least, your body needs eased back into it. you are really sick.

you and i both know that you will not have succeeded long term. in fact, i don’t know how long it will last. i do know, though, that you have succeeded enough to hide it from now on and no one will ever know. no one. everyone will be free to breathe and smile and be at ease. you will be the only one with the price to pay. it will only cost you. but you don’t matter. you really don’t.

you’ve been so open and free with him you have forgotten how to shut the door. for cryin’ out loud, p, close it. let him open it when he wants. no one wants a wide open door to a house they don’t desire. and yes, i know that we are talking about two different doors. close them both. you don’t have to leave your emotional door open either. close them both. he has keys.

you have been such a disappointment. i see you in the mirror and i don’t even want to keep your gaze. you disgust me in every sense of the word. physically, you’re a train wreck. and not the kind that you “just can’t look away from.” you are so ugly and pitiful. no wonder he has no desire to come into that house. hell, i don’t even want to and i own the damn thing. being ugly is nothing new, though.

pathetic and desperate are a couple of words i’d use to describe you in other areas. in addition add in disappointing. you make me so angry. you are so embarrassing. i don’t understand why you can’t just behave normally. what is it about this man that has made you into such a fucking idiot? you have no filter with him. do you trust him that much? i know you do. i just don’t always know why.

you’ve made a mockery out of the persona i have worked so hard to make to present to the outside world. decades i have spent making this mask. and just like that, within months, you just pissed all over it. you need to learn to shut the fuck up. do you remember the days when you were silent? do you remember the days when you never talked? do you remember the days when people used to beg and try to pull information out of you? try silence again. you are the fool that is spoken of that opens his mouth.

crap comes out. crap in the form of truth, yes. but not everything needs to be voiced. not everything needs to be said. he listens to you because he is gracious. some things he is probably interested in. but fuck, p…the rest of the bullshit you say he could give a fuck about. he is kind and never says, but c’mon. use your brain. he doesn’t care about all of that. he has no need. you are not that important to him. you don’t even rank in his top 100. quit your crying and face the facts. life will be a lot less “shocking.”

i swear, the more i think about you the more pissed off i become. everything about you i hate. you know why this is an issue? because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth closed. there was no reason to say anything in the first place. no reason. and yet, what did you do? yes. opened your big fucking mouth. first mistake. anyone else would’ve realized that and left it all right there on that mark. but no. not you. what did you do next? confessed more. why? there was no reason to expand on the subject. and then you just kept going and going. no wonder he thinks you are obsessive.

no wonder you were referred to as a stalker.

yeah. you fucking idiot. hit yourself with that over and over. that should keep the issue suppressed for awhile longer. every major insult that you’ve never wanted to hear, never knew you never wanted to hear, never knew there was a possibility in your life that you would hear…you have heard. how does that make you feel? i suspected as much.

it’s like you never learn. you know, but you never learn. you are a constant disappointment. you are a constant embarrassment. the worst part? as long as we are breathing, we are one. me, reflecting on me. me, looking at you. just for a stab in the heart, let’s talk about something that really hit home. something that you should be really ashamed of.


yeah. i know. there are no derogatory words efficient enough to say to you about this subject. we have been over it several times, but this is something that can never be gone over enough. i mean, shit. unsafe! you are so batshit crazy that you made a grown fucking man feel unsafe. what the fuck is wrong with you? seriously!?

you know who you are. your father. dress yourself up all you want, but a leopard can’t change it’s spots. you see him, too, when you look in the mirror. you can feel him in certain ways you move, looks that you give, facial expressions…in your arrogance that you hide. in every way you have just hopped right in to his footsteps. hop. hop. hop. and then you want to go around whining and crying about your youth. you cannot cry over what you become if you become the very thing that made you cry. fucking pussy. i can hear him in your steel tone. he is your strictly “pass or fail” attitude. he is your incredible ability to detach.

he is your merciless heart.

i tell ya, be glad he is your intelligence, though. you’d have been royally fucked if you’d have gotten that from your mother. also be glad he is your humor. another thing you did not want to get from your mother. as much as you hate it, you are your mother, too. manipulative. cunning. stealth. he’s the blunt and bold, she’s the in your back. together they make you-and you go directly for the heart. you are awful. unsafe.

although you would rather die than cause him any pain, you have made him feel unsafe.


multiple times. not just once. so the gentleness in you cannot be seen. the goodness in you is a fragment of your vivid imagination. everything you thought about yourself that was mildly positive in this area was wrong. the only hope you had for yourself, the only somewhat redeeming qualities do not really exist.

gentleness does not come and go. it is either there or it is not. you were wrong. the goodness and kindness that go along with gentleness do not come and go. they are either in you or not. you were wrong. yes. be broken. be horrified. you should be. look at the filth you have ultimately become. realize that you exceeded nothing and became something worse. from miles and miles and miles away you made another human feel threatened and unsafe.

you absolute horror of a human being.

he could do that. he did that. are you proud? are you proud? you fucking moron. what now? are you going to take up the ol’ family business? you wanna hop, hop, hop right into the darkness where you belong? can you commit the “tasks” that are required to live in that world? you are him…so can you? you know how. you know what they are. you are clearly a waste. there is no value to you. ask yourself, seriously…could you?

your day is almost up. you have spent the last hour sufficiently throwing a few small punches. finish up the rest of the night alone, and hit hard. this is it. this. is. it. yes. it fucking sucks.

you are in love with him. after today, you will just love him. that is all.

life’s a bitch.

fuck off.


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