Do you know how much I hate you right now for making me feel so fucking shitty without you even knowing it like you’re doing this make-you-feel-shitty thing on purpose just to make me feel so fucking miserable. Yes, I feel so shitty I’m writing run-on sentences and didn’t even end my previous sentence with the right punctutation mark.
Damn you. You’re such a silent bitch killer. And no, by “bitch killer” I mean you’re a bitch who kills, not a killer who kills bitches — because then you’d be comitting the irony of ironies by killing yourself. On second thought, why don’t we just go with the second definition so that you’d just disappear and not be everywhere, as in literally everywhere, everywhere to me. Agh. I can’t believe I just quoted a Michelle Branch song — or wait, is it Vanessa Carlton? Wth. I don’t care.
It’s you I care for. Shit. No. I don’t. Because caring for you would mean feeling all the more shittier. That’s why I should stop caring. But how the hell am I supposed to do that if you’re bitch-slapping me by being…there, existing, breathing.
Disappear, bitch. Relieve me.
Someone remote wipe my brain.
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