Work Text:
I hate you.
I hate the face you wear.
I hate the voice you have.
I hate the skin you're in.
I hate that you destroy everything you touch, you leave nothing but mess behind.
I should have killed you.
You where never ment to be born, never ment to live, you could never live.
You are what's wrong with this world. No good could ever come from you.
No GOD could love you,
No father,
No mother.
You are the product of a mistake, worse then nothing. To be nothing would be just that, no bad nor good, but no. You are bad, you are disgusting, you are worthless and evil.
What a waste of life.
So many other souls deserved it, any other soul really.
You stole it, so you deserve to suffer. You deserve the pain, after all you cause nothing but such.
A father never wanted you, a mother never deserved you. You could never be a good daughter, never a worthy son. You just had to be this.
A monster.
Are you proud?
Do you feel happy?
I mean "congratulations " on twenty years!
Twenty fucking years you've wasted life.
Twenty years of mistakes.
Twenty years of pain.
Twenty years of mess.
Twenty years you should have been dead.
No matter how hard you try, do you really think you can fix it?
The pain?
The mistakes?
The lives ruined?
I mean there is no fixing you, you aren't broken.
To be broken would mean you'd have to be good, do you really think you where EVER good?
You where born this.
No matter how much medicine you down, how much therapy you try, no matter how many pointless tasks you do, you know it's true.
Your body squirms under your touch, your head screaming for it to end, because it knows you.
It hates you too.
No one would mourn you, just the roles you played. The silly little masks you'd put on and jump around in. The characters they knew "you" as.
They'd find someONE to replace you with, someONE worth love, someONE human.
They'd forget someTHING like you, hate someTHING like you, fear someTHING like you.
You are the horror warned about.
The sickness that kills.
The pain and aching.
You are what people hate, what they hide from. You are the one to blame.
No death could change that, could change what you are.
Killing yourself would be the only thing you'd ever do right.
Your death would free them, your death would be a pitiful payment.
Nothing even close to the damage you've caused, but a payment non the less.
Lie to yourself, say it'll get better after this. Say this isn't true, go back and live, but you know you'll be back here. You'll always come back here. This is you.