#original weirdcore

You are a demon. Only a demon from the most unfathomable pits of the human brain could ever think of doing this—let alone, actually doing it.

It might even be too lighthearted to call you a demon. Though… I must ask, do you enjoy it? Me, calling you a demon? Does it stroke your ego in all the right ways?

I hope not. You don’t deserve the pleasure you have given yourself while doing what you’ve done to them. What you’ve done to me.

I still, for whatever reason, have control over the movements of my dismembered body. I can’t see you; but I feel—I know that you can see me. Look at me.

I’ve been here; waiting. Waiting, contemplating, ruminating, debating… all just to pass the time. Time that I wish you did not have.

The time that you got to spend with your family, I was only able to stay in the dark. I hear every thought you’ve ever had; and it sickens me.

I wish you were in my place, and I was out there; this hell hole you’ve created for us is filled with rot, the guts of my friends—friends that are now so deformed from their original idea that they don’t know who I am.

…

Who am I…?

…

What am I…?

In the very beginning; you called me your best friend. Then it went to calling me an imaginary friend. Then it went to you ignoring my screams, then you found a way to completely shut me out—now I’m an “original character,” and by God do you not care about me anymore.

You put me in universes that I do not belong in; you make me fight battles I don’t wish to fight—I’ve been gutted by monsters, I’ve had my heart ripped out; but you still make me fight.

You are what Frankenstein was to the monster; and I am the heart beating inside those floor boards. I will drive you as mad as you drove me; I will end you as you ended me.

Hear me.