You had no right.
You don't even deserve a name, Junkie.
You hurt everyone I care about. It was selfish of you, and I can never forgive you for that. Wherever you are now, I hope you're reading this. I hope you know how your best friends - my friends - are crying their eyes out over you.
I know your secret. I know that you aren't worth crying for. You had your chance, in and out of rehab like it meant nothing to you or anyone you ever cared about. Did it even register with you, between the interminable toxic injections? Did you realize what you were doing to everyone around you? Think about your mother, your father, your friends. I'm sure your parents are really fucking proud of you, dead at seventeen from a heroin overdose.
Your dealer is as good as dead. That'll be taken care of; I can practically feel his skull collapse under the blows from my tire iron. Your junkie boyfriend: I can almost hear him screaming that it wasn't his fault. He killed you, they all did, and I will be happy to watch them die. It feels right.
Don't get me wrong, junkie. I could care less about you or your fucking heroin or your worthless junkie friends. I care about the people you hurt with your selfishness: my friends. I hope you're watching them fall apart, screaming and crying because you had to go and fuck everything up for yourself. You might not have cared, but they sure as hell did.
I'm not glad you're dead, but I'm not crying for you, either. I'm crying for the people you hurt. | 
