Patricia, a punching bag is exactly what
I want, but unlike your eating disorder, I actually
listen to people who are above me. I shouldn’t even
be talking to you right now except that 
I want to punch something and can’t so I’m
performing a pointless exercise and I think
you know exactly which one I’m talking about.
The one where I tell you how immensely
upset your suicide makes me and I substitute
my fists for words. You have no idea Patricia,
you have no idea how I want to kick that big
plushy thing in my room and pretend it’s 
your nose, since it was the only perfect thing
God made for your face. I’m not calling you
two-faced. I’m just saying that if I
could interrupt the pity party you’re having
for yourself in Hell, I’d kick your face off
and kiss it back up to God, since he wasted
his precious time creating you and you bet
your pretty young face he fucking knows it.

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