"You're the first thing I think about when I get up in the morning, and the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night."

That's what she said.

I think about her hair, her smile, her face. I think about how the low sun used to catch her eye on winter mornings. I think about how she would cheer me up when I was down. I think about the things we used to talk about, things I wouldn't talk to anyone else about.

I think about how she destroyed me.

I think about how much I hate her, about how I would like to kill her. Every night is a different way, each as painful as the last. I think about her lifeless body, her empty eyes. I think about rivers of blood flowing from every orifice. I think about killing her again and again and again, smashing her skull with my boot, breaking her bones, dowsing her with petrol and setting her on fire. I think about how angelic her final screams will be. I think about her tarty make-up smeared across her swollen, bloated face. I think about her panties soaked with piss, I think about shit slithering from her asshole as she hangs by her neck. I think about carrying her nipples in my wallet, her teeth as a necklace, kicking her to death, punching her to death, strangling her, destroying her time and time again.

I hate you.

You're the first thing I think about when I get up in the morning, and the last thing I think about when I go to bed at night.

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