Banished
I'll bet you wonder why I don't talk to you. I'll bet you think I'm going to cave in and call you first and then you can start the whole cycle over again. If only you knew how I feel about you. You think you're so fucking righteous. You shop at Goodwill just to seem down-to-earth. You used to work for United Way. And how long since that job has it been since you've had another? 10 years? 20? You prissy, Oprah-watching leech. And now you're homeschooling little Muslim children. How precious! Nevermind all your post 9/11 rants about how anyone of middle-eastern descent should be able to be harassed at the airport just because of what they look like. You said it may be an inconvenience to some people but it was necessary due to the current state of things. Way to promote another holocaust, you amazing fucking humanitarian.
But enough about you. Let's talk about you and me. About that night. You tried so hard to make me break, you evil fucking harpy cunt. You tried so hard to drive me to suicide. You took that which is most personal, distorted it, and used it as a weapon. And not just on one issue. Everything. Everything you know about me, or just pretend to know. And you just wouldn't let up. You kept going and going, kicking me while I was down. My dad killed himself so it should be an easy sell, right? And then you could go around telling everyone you were right about me all along, meanwhile wiping away the water you splashed in your eyes when no one was looking. But it didn't work, bitch, did it? And now I haunt you far worse in life than I could ever hope to in death. You did everything in your power to break me that night. To at least hear me cry. You wanted to hear it and feel powerful, but as far as you know I never did. The truth is after I hung up on you I cried for hours, but I kept it under control until then. I will die happy knowing that you think you didn't get to me. That you'll never have the satisfaction of knowing what you've done. But you'll die first, because you're a wretched old woman who's wasting away. And when you do I will say nothing and feel nothing but the same contempt I feel for you right now.
You are an evil, pathetic excuse for a human being and you will rot in your own skin before death rots you to the core. And I will have no part of it. Not anymore. I will shed not one more tear in front of you, because of you or over you for the rest of my life.
But enough about you. Let's talk about you and me. About that night. You tried so hard to make me break, you evil fucking harpy cunt. You tried so hard to drive me to suicide. You took that which is most personal, distorted it, and used it as a weapon. And not just on one issue. Everything. Everything you know about me, or just pretend to know. And you just wouldn't let up. You kept going and going, kicking me while I was down. My dad killed himself so it should be an easy sell, right? And then you could go around telling everyone you were right about me all along, meanwhile wiping away the water you splashed in your eyes when no one was looking. But it didn't work, bitch, did it? And now I haunt you far worse in life than I could ever hope to in death. You did everything in your power to break me that night. To at least hear me cry. You wanted to hear it and feel powerful, but as far as you know I never did. The truth is after I hung up on you I cried for hours, but I kept it under control until then. I will die happy knowing that you think you didn't get to me. That you'll never have the satisfaction of knowing what you've done. But you'll die first, because you're a wretched old woman who's wasting away. And when you do I will say nothing and feel nothing but the same contempt I feel for you right now.
You are an evil, pathetic excuse for a human being and you will rot in your own skin before death rots you to the core. And I will have no part of it. Not anymore. I will shed not one more tear in front of you, because of you or over you for the rest of my life.