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Seething hatred.
I hate you. You make me sick. Every turn I take to show my love, you respond by twisting it apart, until it's a hideous representation of what it once was. I'd rather be alone forever than experience this ever again.
All this time I've kept my childlike heart alive. For what? For you to spit upon? You're sick. You feed on the suffering of others. It excites you that I feel this pain, that isn't even real. You're dead.
It makes me sick to be in this body, to experience this world. It's a poor representation of what could be good. You've taken and defiled what was holy. Let yourself rot in hell for all I care, it's not my hell.
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- 1 year ago
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