Several

I wrote this a few days ago...a jumble of this and that. There's no point, really. As you might have noticed, I was quite frustrated with several people.

Would it make you feel better if I just told you everything, laid everything on the table for you to scrutinize and mold until it fits your perfect thought?

I'd rather not. Thanks.

Are your paranoid delusions getting in the way? Or are you just angry because you have no right to tell me what to feel, think, and write.

There I go again. You may as well just pick a person of random. Let me just tell you this: you're wrong.

Would your pretty little figure seem content with seeing me vulnerable and open to your every demand, wish, and thought?

Would you like to hold my F*****G HAND as I cross the street as well?

For you wouldn't want your pretty little picture to tear in the middle, would you?

I don't need your help. I don't need your hand. I'll tolerate your sympathy, but not your pity.

Believe me, I'll be fine. It's not like I'm your scrap to disuse then throw away.

I've made it this far, and I think I've been fine. Seeing you once every, oh, 5 months is far beyond what I need, scratch that, want to see you in. Never would work. But it's coming towards that, isn't it?

For the phone is to heavy to pick up in your greed-ridden hand to call your offspring. Can you even remember the number in that cob-webbed skull of yours? For we all know there is nothing up there, except you're control that you wish to enforce on everyone. Maybe you'll end up like someone we both know, or knew.

And stop being so paranoid. I'm not even thinking about you hun, for once. Does it make you angry? Does it make you confused?

Well I have more important issues on my mind than to waste time with you.

I'm glad for your, lack of a better word, care, but since when could you start analyzing me? Who gave you that authority to act like you know everything?

And I've lost the person who I confided in most. They're too busy. Honestly, who would spend time with a hunk of flesh just in the way. An illusion of what is never going to be you. A serpent who wishes to scar with her eyes, but who has no such power. I've lived without you for years now. Both of you.

Regardless, some are still here. The vampires who live off of broken dreams and scarred hearts. They suck the essance out of every one.

It's going up by the masses. As if that could be true.

I hope that you're rotting right now. I've told myself my truth, which would be believable to most.

And you, dear, sweet you. How could I not talk about you? Oh! I remember now. That's the reason.

Oh, did that trick you? Open up your eyes and see your life, then you should comprehend.

That is all I have to say. You really didn't need this, did you? Oh, I just hope you can rest that pretty little head of yours tonight. We wouldn't want the queen bee looking like a sloth. Must keep up those appearances.

You can guess as much as you want about who this pertains to, for that's all you care about, isn't it? Just so you're not confused, just so you know what's going on around you.

Let me put it to you this way: Let it go.

This is not a life or death situation, so it should not be handled like one.