Oh did I break your heart?? Bitch, I step over like 400 broken hearts every fucking day just on my way from my front door to my mailbox. Fall in love with me, fall in lust, whatever. First of all it’s not like you have a fucking choice, and secondly, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll find a use for you–your uselessness amuses me. And when it doesn’t, I’ll toss you away like the rest of those pathetic bitches whose hearts I relish stepping on when I just don’t have the time to maneuver around them.
Weak men like you were fucking BORN for my torment. And you know it. You fucking ACHE for it. You’re addicted to it and you know no one does it like I do. Oh yeah, I know how hard you try to find someone else to fill that place I rip out when I throw you away. Can’t be done.
Everyone knows how you beg for me. They know how easily I toss you away without a backwards glance.
No one does humiliation like I do. And the carnage left in my wake is all the proof necessary.