Sometimes I imagine myself, wrapping my fingers around your neck, watching the bruises begin to form as I restrict your air flow. I imagine the life draining from your eyes. Those eyes. Those dark eyes, a perfect mirror of my own. You are my own flesh and blood, yet I imagine what it would be like to end your life.
I imagine myself holding a knife to your throat. The end of it pressing into you skin, watching as a small bead of blood forms at the tip of my blade. That blood so dark it could blend into the night sky. It simply reflects the color of your heart, black.
I imagine myself stabbing your chest over and over, the blood flying out of you with each blow. It blossoms from our chest like a crimson flower, staining your shirt and the floor beneath you. It is your essence, what sustains your life, and it is spilling onto the floor beneath you.
I imagine myself tying you to a chair and forcing poison down your throat, making you suffer a slow and painful death. I want to see the pain in your eyes as the poison eats away at your heart and muscles, the agonizing screams ripping through your throat.
You are my own flesh and blood, and you are supposed to love me, not make my life a living hell. You are supposed to protect me from the dangers of this cruel world, accept me for who I am and help me be the best person I can be. But all you seem to be able to do is tear me down and rip me apart, make me hate every fiber of my being. Children are supposed to love their parents, not resent them. I should love you, not want to kill you. But I guess this is just the world we live in. And it's only big enough for one of us.
