Blood on my hands.

I hate you, but I hate me more.
I loath and despise you.
I would love to watch you suffer, watch you squirm and hurt.
I would love to be the cause of that hurt, that devastation.
I would love to destroy your life and heart like you have mine.
But everyone tells me I am better than you.
That you will get what is coming to you.
That it will return to you three fold.
That doesn't make me feel better, it makes me feel worse.
That I am better than you and still you took what was mine.
That is where the self hating comes in. I wasn't doing what I should
I left open a hole, I left a weak spot in my life and love.
And you were there, you with your wicked ways, your untruths, your fakery.
You were there to listen, to twist words, actions, and moments.
To boost the ego and self esteem. To tear me down in his eyes.
If given the opportunity, gladly will I murder you.
Gladly will I torture your son before your eyes, and take away the life you gave him.
Gladly will I carve out your heart, and when I am done, I will start on the other.
I would murder, all those whom contributed to my hurt and devastation. I will do it slowly, enjoying every moment, savoring the fear and hate in your eyes.
the ecstasy of watching you as I do to you what you did to me.
Will it consume me, definitely.
Will it be worth it, completely.
Will I loose myself, assuredly.
But I will be vindicated, set free from the lies and pain.
I will be broken, but whole all at once.
So I will bide my time, I will complete my plans.
And when all is ready, I will bath in your blood on my hands.