You. You, a person I barely know, change me into this creature I do not know, this creature desperate for attention I do not deserve. I’m sick of your unconscious manipulation, the way you play with me- pulling my marionette strings to the point of nearly breaking me. Somewhere deep down, or perhaps right on the surface, I know the inevitable destruction is something I deserve, no argument against it. I wait for the day the ticking stops and a rapid explosion takes it’s place. And as the ashes fall to the blackened, burnt ground, my spirit, or perhaps my lack thereof, will crumble, as it should.
As it should.