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How do you feel now that you've lost all of your relevance?
You're mortal, and a materialistic bitch at that.
Just because you've got your licence and you can burn all the money in the world doesn't make you any better than anyone else.
You're a Graceless being, despite the fact you take ballet.
For someone who's meant to be built of lavender and poise, you're wilted and shameful.
Narcissism wont get you far, honey, and neither will learning some stupid Tiktok dance or rambling about your worldly possessions.
You can't take it with you when you're six feet under, so really, what's the point?
All we have are our minds, and I wish I could go through all the psychosurgery in the world if it meant I could erase the dead nights I spent, sleeping on your bedroom floor because you wouldn't let me share a bed with someone of my sexuality.
I'm not dangerous but I flare up when provoked.
You made me cry the day that you tore me to shreds, and I wish I could do the same to you.
I'm a firm believer in "an eye for an eye" so maybe, just maybe, you'll let me see what lay behind those e-girl eyeliner-stained lids.
Getting drunk in crowds and blacking out isn't attractive, especially when you're doing it.
I'd be lying if I said that I didn't ponder who you'll be another 10 years down the track.
Yes, I remember your birthday, and yes, I think of you when I see some trinket you'd enjoy, but you've burnt me and set my house alight.
I could damage myself in a way that matters, but you could never harm me in a way that I couldn't bounce back from.
Jealousy is hideous, isn't it? While I lay here, wishing for the money that you have, you lay there jealous of me for some ungodly reason.
There's nothing about me that is worthy of being jealous over, I am not happy nor rich.
I host my own pity parties in my room and drown out the noises in whatever I choose to use. If you think that's enviable, go outside and meet some people who'll make you feel exactly how you made me feel.
Maybe then, you'll be decent again.
But even if you become some divine being that "accepts" others for who they are, you won't be coming back to me.
I don't need a backstabber like you in my life, and while you plot your next victim, I stitch my own wounds that you left as I try not to tear myself apart.
Blood always remains, it seeps and remains in fibers forever. In a way, it is like my memory of people.
I hope you never forget what you've done to me, because I sure as hell wont.
Goodnight, you being of hate. I hope you're haunted by the past, and anxious of the future.
Spitefully yours,
Your Resurrected Victim. xox
(P.S. You aren't alternative, and you never will be. You're too mainstream to listen to anything other than the biggest trends, and you have no fashion sense at all. You might as well dress blindfolded for all that anyone cares.)
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