Splitting Headache Pt. 2

it's going to turn out to be an awful person, i pray. i beg god that, like you said about the false magician's touch, there are spores starting to grow under your fingernails and that they're drinking up all your energy. how could it call itself that name?? it means nothing to anyone. when you look up, you'll learn that the mold has taken over and you are crumbling now. you'll learn that you cannot allow yourself to make new friends. you'll crawl your way back to me, shaking hands gently clutching my ankle, eyes who's gaze i once coveted staring up into my own. you'll plead, and i'll stomp your disintegrating head in. you should have been smarter when you had the chance. the flytraps and anthrax might be forgiving but i am not. i am a dog with someone else's name forever burned into it's skin. i am a little girl without a jacket hiding from the cold. i am the craggy, desolate, and bleak shore that your wood will splinter on and that your sailors will drown in. i used to love you.