I’m smoking another one down, burning his flesh beneath me, inside me.
It’s just as satisfying as it is sick.
I’m breathing in the pain.
But, unable to ingest it, I’m forced to spit it back out.
Onto the page the inkblots rage.
They slither slowly, smoothly, like a sleeping dragon’s flame.
They possess the tattered page.
He’s affected me too much and I hate him, I say between coughs.
I need a drink. I feel like I’m always fighting.
It’s so damn tiring but I refuse to give up.
Sometimes I find myself crawling, searching for a way to reach you
Though I know I could never stoop that low…
I try to make it clear through my words, through the smoke
Because you made yours so clear before.
Understand me. That’s what I need.
Punishment was made for you, not me.
So why am I the one paying for your sins and mistakes??
It never made sense to me.
You’re a constant enigma, or at least you were.
Now you’re just “the enemy.”
And the justice I’ve received will never be enough.
Hurt me again. Do it. I double dog dare you.
So I can be the strong one. So I can finally be right.
So I can leave your friends speechless when they see what you’ve done.
I can’t wait to be queen and watch you fall to your knees.
Kiss my feet, peasant, feel the release.
You’ll never feel freedom again, you leech.
Your kingdom is mine.
For the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.