I dont want you, I dont need you anymore. And yet youre still there, staring, whispering in that subconscious language that reminds me of all the things I hate about myself, and hate about my existence. Youre taking great pleasure in watching me slowly die, watching me fall apart. You are a part of me though, were too connected. I know you wont just go away, you cant, and I hate myself for it, as much as I hate you.
So now I stand staring at your reflection, trembling in anticipation for your strike. Waiting patiently for the pain I know too well. This was always your favorite part, as my sanity deteriorates; you wait for me to snap.
Shattered glass, a shattered mind, Id kill myself just to watch you die. You know my intentions, my every thought, as I slowly pull a shard of glass from the broken mirror. Youre allowing this to happen arent you? Surely you have to know. This is probably just another part of your game. I dont care if I win or lose; I just want the game to end now. In a heart beat I was turned around. In a heartbeat the glass was forced into your belly, almost severing my fingers as I pushed it in. In a heartbeat I was thrown to the corner of the room by the sharp, excruciating pain in my stomach. In this heartbeat; I think its my last. My hand, my stomach, spilling blood, the pain, the hopelessness, the hatred; I began to cry.
I was the one crying in pain, the blood collecting on the floor below me, but as I looked up I saw that you were the one dying. I crawled over to you, the blood on the floor sticking to my hands and knees. I sat next to you, watching you, already missing you. I hated you as I hated myself, but I loved you as I loved myself. The fears began to die and the loneliness began to set in. And I realize that you were both the worst of me, and the best of me. You werent there whenever things were going good, just so you could fuck it all up. You were always there, through everything. I placed one hand behind me on the floor, slightly splashing the puddle of blood as I set it down; with the other hand I began to touch your horns, your grotesque face; nothing more then a reflection of my own. There is hope as Im watching you die, joy even as the tears are rolling down my face. Im no longer scared of you, but now Im scared of the future. What does this mean for me? Am I to sink further into apathy without you? Or maybe, could I possibly become beautiful again?