Here is the deal: you don’t get to kill me or my family.
You just don’t. Just because you suck balls and you fucked up and you chose wrong doesn’t mean anything about me.
You don’t get to tell me or other people who I am or what I can do. You don’t get to dictate my life.
I am a big fan of you looking in the mirror at how horrible you have acted when getting chance after chance after chance to not go to assrape prison.
Yea, assrape prison—you deserve it. You are a predator and a self-entitled bitch boy who took advantage of a person with a clear open wound and then pretended constantly that you were the victim.
People in prison are really good at judging motives and character, actually. Most have been screwed over so badly their entire lives by broken systems and backstabbers. So they have learned to observe, ask the questions that get answers that reveal hidden truths, and they stop caring about judgement beyond G-d—cause it really doesn’t matter.
You don’t care about me beyond your own motives. That is beyond sad because you were lied to and bribed by losers, and you actually took the money that sold your soul.
But I really question whether or not you had a soul ever.
I don’t want to talk to you or see you again because you let everyone down, not just me.
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