As I was listening to the warm putrid substance rise in her throat and expel into the slab of porcelain in front of her, I was smirking. I hoped her pain was excruciating. I wanted her to suffer, feel just a fraction of agony she put me through. Countless nights my body ached.
It ached for food. It ached for death.
Death was the only thing I yearned for. The only drug that would take my pain away. I wanted to die so badly. Some nights I would lay there hoping my body would fall weak and wither into the soil below me. Some nights I would drag a blade across my wrist, hoping all my blood drain letting my cold emotionless body for my mother to discover. At 11:11 I would wish for the world to end suddenly. I did not want to have these thoughts. What I wanted was a mother who loved me unconditionally. Instead, I got a mother who would rather be poisoned. She chose her sickness, so I hope she lives in agony, even after death.
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