If you got to know me, we wouldn’t get along. If you took the time to learn a thing or two about what makes me tic, what interests me, you woul d hate me. If you took a step back from your preconceived notions about “people like me”, you’d realize that I’m a terrible person.

I hate you because you don’t see me. I hate you because you’re not perfect, far from it, but you act like you are. You act like you can’t do anything wrong, but you can. You can and do, every single day you breathe air on this planet. Why don’t you just leave me alone?

Nothing on this earth can make you see either of us for who we really are. You are oblivious to your own faults, your own despair. I see it. I feel it when we’re close, bubbling noxiously under the surface of your flawless façade. You are worthless, and you know it, somewhere in your mind. Somewhere underneath that perfection lies the face of a dying child.

I hope one day you realize what you’ve done. I hope one day you see me for who I am and turn away from me in disgust. Maybe you’ll look in the mirror one day and see inside yourself. Maybe then you’ll realize that emptiness is universal.