My finger tips touch the keyboard as they pause, wondering what I want to say. Music blares in teh background as I try to find something... Anything to type. It doesn't have to make sense, but at one point, I think it should. I don't know what else I'm trying to say, but I'm making it all up as I go along, trying to get myself to believe what I'm saying.
The words you say to me is nothing more than white noise. I try and block you out with every part of my being, but you keep pounding on my door, screaming at me to let you in. I hid in the corner, willing to make the noise go away as you break open the door. You grab my arm as you continuiously beat on me. You beat me because you have nothing left to live for. You beat me because you blame me for your failures. You beat me because you blame me for not being able to live.
You scream at me because you think you can. You abuse me because you think you can. Your words have become nothing more than mere whispers in my mind as I become fully numb. Once your asleep, I sit in that very corner you dragged me from and drink my whiskey. I drink whiskey because it chases my demons away for the time being. It makes me more numb as I tend to my wounds. I drink it because it pisses me off. I drink it because it helps me plot my revenge.
I silently go into your room and hit you with my baseball bat. I hit your head first as you flop around. You roll over and look at me. Rage is in your eyes as I raise the bat and hit it over your stomach. Over and Over I beat you. I beat you because I can. I beat you because you've caused me years of pain. I beat you because of all the dreams you've crushed. I beat you because you stole my innocence away from me. I beat you because I can. I beat you because you've caused me years of pain and you don't even realize what you've done.
I look at your bloodied form and pour gasoline over your dead body. I drink from my whiskey bottle as I take one last look at your disgusting form and the place you called home, the very place that I called hell. I pour gasoline on everything and pack one bag. I walk out and strike a match. I hear your soul screaming from the inside as you insult me. I throw the match as everything goes up into flames. I watch as the fire dances in front of my eyes. I watch because I'm getting satisfaction out of the fact that you're in hell and I'm not. I'm laughing at you because of how weak you really are.
When it's all said and done, you were nothing more than a weak son of a bitch. You can't hurt me anymore. I throw my whiskey bottle into the flames as it explodes. I turn on my heel as I walk away, never looking back, but looking foreward.
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