Pain. Hurt. Anger. Hate. Betrayal.
Dismay. Despise. Deceit.
The blood trickles from the slits on my wrists, just as it drains from my heart.
I can’t believe she would hurt me this way.
I can’t believe she would take away my writing, my inspiration, my one true love.
And with absolutely no remorse?
How could she do this to me?
I never hurt her.
I never started rumors about her.
I’m not even really sure how she could believe I would do that to her.
It hurts so badly.
As if she drove a knife into my heart.
As if she twisted said knife until the look of pain on my stricken features satisfied her pleasure.
I lie here now, wondering how long this pain will last before it finally consumes my soul.
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