Things

You fucking bastard. You complete monster. You sadistic freak.

Sometimes I wonder what you were thinking. Then I remember that you don’t think. You just do. Chinese Room that you are; it’s not in your capacity to think. You just manipulate variables.

You have nothing in common with me. No, you have more in common with that predator, toying with its food. Injuring it a bit, letting it think it’s got away, then pulling it right back in. You don’t feel sorry for me. You don’t empathise with me. You aren’t capable of empathy.

You had me at your mercy, and you made me into a thing.

Just stop it. Stop manipulating variables. Stop doing. Just understand.

It wasn’t even personal. You don’t even hate me. I was just something disposable for you to play with.

You took everything I had. Absolutely everything.

I’d cry, if you hadn’t taken my tear ducts.