Weaponized Death. (NSFW)

You think you’re cute, don’t you?

Something that mattered to me was taken away and you’ve determined you were the designated driver for that salt truck that was about to dump its innards into my wounds. You kept me from saying goodbye to someone I’d never see again, even though you knew I was traveling from another fucking state to see her one last time. You made sure you left an irrevocable stain on my life to make sure that every time I feel this pain, I will forever think of you.

I’m sure you enjoy that. It’s bold. I get it.

But that choice to direct a path in my life that you had no business calling the shots on will forever haunt you, and I promise you that. When that smug grin and that shitty comments behind my back gets around, people are going to start backing the fuck away from you when the noise and the attention around her death die down. Every fucking person can see exactly what you did and once they stop feeling guilty about not grieving with you, you are going to be a lonely son-of-a-bitch whose own children abandoned you in every sense of the word.

You’re going to die alone. Nobody is going to give up their soul for a lecherous waste of space with no redeeming qualities. I don’t even feel sorry for you now. That ship has sailed. You can literally be in the hospital dying and I will ignore every phone call. You cut me so deep I no longer have an emotional response when I hear about you. I shrugged with every misfortune and simply reminded the snooping messenger that karma is real. That’s all the time you get from me then.

This pain I’m feeling that you inflicted on me will be dealt back to you with every misfortune that you deserve while you’re still drawing air that is best suited for other people. I find some sick comfort in knowing you will never find love, and you will always know a different kind of recurring pain as I move on with my life. This pain I feel right now will ebb. You will always need new sutures and I will sip my green tea as your flesh sears from your cruelty.

Our family is a messy bunch of addicts and alcoholics that posture as if they’ve been the most successful people in the world. Our uncle can’t keep it in his pants and our aunt will still smile and wave like she’s the goddamn Queen and looks down her crooked nose at you like she was wearing a bodysuit full of diamonds and should be idolozed. The reality was she was another poorly kept woman with a nice house and a wardrobe full of knockoff tracksuits and archaic hairstyles so she felt like she looked the part of a person she’d never manage to be.

You are just a bunch of losers that will never leave a significant mark on this world other than your carbon footprints. So hover over her waxy body in that cheap looking dress and mid-range casket you bragged you “splurged” on because you wanted to be credited for the entire day. I’m pretty sure that you would have killed her yourself just for the attention. Who the fuck posts on Facebook as someone takes their dying breath anyway? Then posts a crowd funding link when we all know that she had funeral coverage that paid for it entirely?

I guess there’s no use getting mad about it because I don’t have to worry about spending the rest of my life useless and unloved. You have people flocking around you as they wait for another clear sign that you’re wholly and irrevocably mentally ill and continue to talk about it amongst themselves rather than speak to you.

You call it popularity when the reality is that everyone knows you will lie, cheat, and steal your way to where you’re going. They just can’t leave you unattended if they don’t want you walking out with their wallets again or trying to sleep with their friends. Your kids even have to worry about whether or not they’re going to be surprised again when they run into you in the kitchen at 3 am after you’ve been clearly hooking up with their parent(s).

Everyone knows exactly who you are. You can’t get far in Royale County without eventually running into someone that’s well-informed of your predictable path to your own demise. Your act is running out of unsuspecting people that you can victimize.

I hope that while the flames start licking the sides of my sisters casket you find the justification and peace you are looking for. But to me, you’re in that casket alongside her. Your death brings me peace. Your silence generates joy. As your beauty decades, you will lose your biggest asset. You will forever be remembered as an eventual nobody.

This is where our journey encourages us to part ways, and I promise you that I won’t even bother to look over my shoulder as I put miles between us. I am leaving my anger at these crossroads because I’m onto a much lighter journey now. You can carry your burdens alone now as your relevance ceases to exist outside of these pages.

My sister knew I loved her. She will only know you as the creature that weaponized her death because you wanted to scam people for money and try to hit her son where it hurts. You want to hurt us because he allowed us to love him more than you did.

And you did, for a short spell. But now you don’t because he will be a fine young man and an example of everything you refused to aspire to. He will get to travel the world. He will know how pure joy can be. And he will never walk this earth feeling he’s above all others.


You will be a soulless shell, and bury you I must.

I’m praying for you as my love turns to dust.

Farewell.

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