High is all you'll ever be
We’re done. Over. I’m not asking, I’m not negotiating, and I’m sure as hell not waiting around for you to manipulate your way back in with that fake charm and fake promises. I’m writing this so you can’t twist my words later like the slimy coward you are.
You had a real woman who actually gave a damn, and you chose drugs and lowlife company instead. Thieves. Homeless addicts who steal and lie without a second thought, it wasn't just one or two, it was everyone who showed up at the door . You welcome them in, after they have stolen from you and you've vowed to never talk to them again. The kind of scum that People cross the street to avoid--I finally accept that these ARE your people....and you are just like them. It is true how birds of a feather flock together, you are no different than them, comfortable in that company. That’s the crowd that makes you feel big? Congrats, you’ve finally found your level—bottom of the barrel, where honesty goes to die and accountability doesn’t exist.
You’d rather rot with parasites and get high than be a man and tell the truth for once in your miserable life. That says everything anyone needs to know about you.
You’re manipulative, weak, and so terrified of real intimacy that you sabotage everything good that comes your way. I see you clearly now: a hollow, spineless boy wearing a man’s skin, always looking for the next escape hatch instead of owning your shit. Every time you lied, every time you disappeared, every time you chose that trashy lifestyle over basic decency—you showed me exactly who you are. And baby, the mask is off. I’m disgusted I ever let you touch me.
Here’s your curse, and I hope it follows you like the stench of your bad decisions: Every woman after me will be measured against what you lost. They’ll smile, they’ll try, they’ll fuck you, whatever—and you’ll still find them lacking. Too loud. Too quiet. Not as loyal. Not as real. Not as good. You’ll chase my ghost in every mediocre replacement and come up empty every single time, because deep down you’ll know you threw away something better than you’ll ever deserve again. That’s your punishment. Live with it.
I’m done carrying your emotional baggage, your lies, and your excuses. Go crawl back to your streets and your substances and your lowlife friends. They suit you perfectly.
Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t show up pretending to be sorry.