I’ve had it. There’s obviously no way I can win anymore, you made sure of that, you play the victim oh so well dear, too well perhaps for even you to realise that you’ve taken it too far. You act like a child, calling me names, breaking my stuff, for gods’ sake, you’re meant to be the man in this relationship, but you’re just a boy. A vindictive little boy who is angered by what he can’t have.

You want me to tell you that I love you, but in all honestly, I think I despise you. I thought you’d at least be a grown up when our little fling ended; perhaps even civil, but perhaps I was being a little optimistic. I should have known that with you that could never happen. You have to be the one hurting, and my God, everyone has to know about it. Paint me as the villain dear if you must, but the picture you paint for yourself is even less attractive. You wear me out.

You make me feel so small. It’s like nothing I do is acceptable. If I have a laugh with my friends, you make me feel guilty that I’m not spending time with you. Why is it I can never feel anything? Do you think I should only be acting sad? Because I’m telling you now that is never going to happen. I’m glad I left you, I can see that now. I was wrong to ever love you; sometimes I wish I’d never met you.

Does this make you happy reading this? Is this what you wanted me to do, crack, and reveal all so that you could call me the bitch that I know you think I am? It’s all down to you honey. You drove me to do this. If you’d just given me a few less guilt trips and not been so amazingly overbearing and possessive we could still be friends, but that’s never going to happen now. Whatever we once had is dead and buried and I have no intentions to resurrect it. So do what you will my beloved darling, call me all the names under the sun, turn even more of my friends against me, hurt me if you must but do it  all with the knowledge that I am stronger than you. I am better than you; and yes I may not wear my heart on my sleeve but I assure you I have loved better and deeper than you with your clichéd poetry ever has or ever will.

So come on then, I’m giving you an open shot. Stop all your passive aggressive nonsense and tell me what you really mean. I’m intrigued to know what’s going on in that strange little head of yours and whatever you say is hardly going to cause any damage is it? We both know that our friendship is painfully weak if anything, so do your worst, because I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want phone calls. I don’t want hugs. I don’t want long rambling poetry reminiscing about the olden days. I want my life back, and as harsh as this sounds, the life I want back doesn’t include you in it. Say what you will but there is to be no more miss nice guy, my claws are out and this bitch bites. Let’s end this now!