You'd be an arrogant jerk to think my writings are about you, and you'd be stupid to think otherwise.
I'd love to hurt you. I'd love to punch you right in the stomach, and give you that fatigued muscle feeling mixed with nausea. I wouldn't stop until you can't hold yourself upright. Believe me, I wouldn't stop. I can and I would hurt you. Until you bleed or cry or hate me for it. And once you do, I'd be your best friend. I swear to God, I'd love you more than ever. That's the only reason I'd ever hurt you.
I'd love to break your heart and mend it again. I'd glue all the pieces together perfectly and leave one unreachable wound open, so when it itches, you'd need me.
I told them about you. God, I'll have to fucking kill you now.
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