You were the love of my life that mutated into a mean-spirited monster. You'd come to my place, throwing rocks at my window at 3:00 in the morning, and like the ignorant sap I was, I'd let you in. I didn't know the depths of your treachery.

Well, now your dirty little secret is out of the bag. I know you're shooting and dealing heroin again, because you're wearing your old belt. It's the same one you used to tie off with while shooting cocaine. You would bite down so hard on the buckle, it cracked your teeth. It's the same belt I symbolically replaced. You lied to me; you betrayed me; exposed me to God knows what diseases, and you have the nerve to call and leave pleading messages like nothing ever happened? Well, I'm dropping the bomb on you.

Maybe your distorted reality affords you the luxury of not facing yourself, but I can clearly see your repulsiveness. You told me your story and had me convinced that you were clean for good. I believed in you. I trusted in your strength. Now I beat myself up daily for ever trusting a junkie. I don't know you anymore. I look at you, and see a cowardly, shrunken, foul, trivial human being. Your eyes are vapid sockets of darkness. All I see now is the heroin. So get help, or fuck off and die your petty death.

-- Anonymous