Love letter to someone like you.

Oh, I'm no God, but beside you it's hard to not feel like such.
You're bleeding on the bathroom floor, it's four am, your arms are bruised and sliced, and the needle is not far from here.
I watch you from the window, watch you undress, watch you sleep.
Sometimes I creep into your bedroom and touch myself.
In the morning, you take a shower, wash your hair, put on your shortest dress, apply the thick, heavy make-up to hide the purple, and then you leave the building, fishnets and heels.
Sometimes I want to kill you. Sometimes I want to take a hammer to your face. Sometimes I want to show you what real pain is, so you'll never cut yourself again.
Mostly, I just want to penetrate your ass.
I'd like to hear you scream, your voice is so pretty and I bet your tears taste like sugar.
On your way out, you sometimes smile and say hello to me, quiet tone, fake smile, false politeness. You try to hide it from me, and everyone else.
Sometimes I follow you when you walk down the street. I like the way your ass moves, the way your hips swing, and I wonder what it would be like to insert a blade inside you.
When you get home, you put on your miserable music at full volume, and sometimes you shut the blinds. Sometimes, you forget and I watch you smoke your drugs.
I like when your boyfriend comes over, and fucks you hard in your shaven cunt, and pulls on your hair 'til you cry.
By the time he leaves, you're usually on the floor, with a few additional bruises. Sometimes, you call your mother, or maybe a close friend, and I see you cry to them over the phone.
I'm coming over tonight, and I'm bringing a friend. I have a fun night planned for us both.
I love you, Lisa.
So very much, it's true.
I'm touching myself whilst thinking of all things I could do to you.