Dear Mr.Universe, fuck you. Seriously why the hell does my life have to have so much shit preventing me from the one thing I want.
Dear Mr. Universe, why are you such an asshole sometimes? Making a extremely beautiful girl kiss me in a movie theater just to take her away from me the next day.
Dear Mr. Universe, please stop being such a cunt. You're intentionally making me love people I have zero chance with. You enjoy seeing me suffer don't you?
Dear Mr. Universe, quit fucking compensating, it's never going to be good enough. You make me love a girl, make her kiss me, just to take her away from me, and what did I get instead? A decent grade on a test and a surprise Arby's sandwich. Thanks! That was definitely the equivalent of true love.
Dear Mr. Universe, thank you for at least making my friends happy. They're so ecstatic and joyful, as they find what'll be their true loves, meanwhile you could've at least bought me dinner before you started to fuck me.
Dear Mr. Universe, I guess it's okay if my own happiness is the price I must pay for others to be happy. I'm okay with that. At least the people I care about are happy. Just the Fucked up part is my suffering doesn't have anything to do with their happiness.
Dear Mr. Universe, Thank you for the knife you've created out of thin air made of stained glass. It was nice of you to personalize it for me by staining it in my blood. Engraved now, are the mistakes I cannot forgive myself for; the accident my parents so proudly named Skylar-Moon Rainbow Ferguson, not knowing their baby boy would grow up to only hate the reflection of the monster that lies within his mirror.
Dear Mr. Universe, I'm just a toy to you aren't I? You just make my emotions run back and forth, jumping to conclusions like hurdles in the Olympics. Back and forth is all you fucking do, with the girls I love, making me face the people I hate, you even force the knife... Back and forth.... Across me! Over and over again, scar after scar, therapist after therapist, medication after medication, hospital Visit after fucking hospital Visit it's never enough for you.
Dear Mr. Universe, when will you be satisfied with hurting me, so that I may someday learn to be satisfied by just being myself. Will it ever end? Are you ever going to get your fill and finally leave me be? Thanks to you my wrists are nothing but permanent bar codes carved by the scars you left with each dried scab representing a different story that all end in proof that I will still never be good enough.
Dear Mr.Universe please... Make it stop, I don't think I can take it anymore. All toys get old and eventually need to be thrown away including me, just give it a rest before it's too late.
Dear Mr. Universe I'm sorry I can't take it anymore, I'm too worn, I've been stitched up too many times from your rough housing.
Dear Mr. Universe, this is goodbye. Forever.
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