You know what the sickest thing in the world is? Someone physically hurting themselves, to see the blood. Because of you.
And you know what's worse?
Listening to it over the phone.
I could've vomited if I had anything in my stomach. So I cried, instead. That's my logic. Can't vomit the sickness, cry it away.
My mother questioned my sudden sobbing, but I brushed her off. She didn't ask afterwards. Smart woman.
I have candles in my room, I have matches in my room. I light candles in my room often.
Swirl together a potion of disgust, hatred, sickness, ache, and a pinch of love for effect. Stand back. Let the fire burn the fumes.
I am not a pyromaniac. Obsession is not healthy. I do not burn buildings, I have no longing to. I do not hurt people with fire. I do not intentionally hurt myself with fire. I respect fire enough not to use it as a tool. I do not enjoy breathing smoke. I do not enjoy flames lapping at my skin. I know when to stop playing with fire. I know starting an uncontrolled fire is idiotic. I would never do such a thing. I am careful not to burn anything. I do not. I have slightly studied how fire burns, and what it burns. I know what is flammable, but I will not use it to burn. I am not insane enough to use this information to start a fire. I will not set flame to anything. I will not set flame to anything. I will not set flame to anything. I will not set flame to anything. I will not set flame to anything.
I long to burn.