Holy Buckets

My hands are shaking and my heart is absolutely pumping faster than what I ever thought it could.
No, I'm not about to pass out or anything like that. I just, I want to sit down in a corner, never eat again, and never emerge from the black.
When I finally close my eyes to sleep at night again, I really believe that the next day is better, and truth be told, it is.
But I still can't get over it. I can't. I can't. I can't.
When I see your face, it does give me hell, but I don't think it's a heartache.
I honestly believe that I have a deep-rooted hatred stemming from my toes, and now that I rarely ever talk to you, I'm finally enjoying my life. We both are.
And the simple fact that you actually think you're so amazing as to go out there and do what you want, is a laugh! You're no good at it. You never will be. I'm sorry, but just because you like something a whole hell of a lot doesn't mean that you were meant for it, or you were good at it.
You always come in last, and I hope to God you finally realize that you are not the best. You have always been to narcissistic to let anyone else in, but when you attempted, and iron clad of a heart just shut that person out.
I know this is horrible, but I really hope that you're the person that's sitting on a street corner, trying to bum off a cigarette on your break from working a shitty ass gas station.
Meanwhile I'm getting up at 6 AM, running around, eating right, and hoping that someday I'll be thin enough to do what I dream for.
I'm not good enough of a person inside to hope the best for you, because what you've done to me, and what you've done to other people, it's about your time to let Karma runs it's course.
You fuck other people over, and sit around and laugh as everyone knows what type of person you are. You're just a no good, spoiled rotten, nasty, ugly (definitely inside as well as out), liar, cheating whore.
I don't give a flying fuck what you think, because I know for a fact that you as a person would love nothing more than to see my fall on my face, and I know that if I keep going in the way that I am, I'm not. I'm going to be out there, happy as a clam, as you're sitting at home, crying and wondering how you're pregnant with no one there to support you. But, that's just my hopes for you.
Everything about you is a lie, and you've done it so well for so long, that even if a form of the truth were to actually spew from your small, disgusting fly trap, I don't believe that we as a society could handle this pressure, and we'd crumble.
I can't believe that I would spend my nights crying over you, and I can't believe that at one point in time, every single wish I made was about you.
Don't make one person your everything, because when you lose them, you'll have nothing.

I'm sick of this empty letter from an empty heart/soul/mind/body/.
I'm just completely fed up with everything to do with you, and someday, I pray that you will get what's coming to you.