I looked up to you even when there was an angle of depression when the world looked in your direction. I was there when you were an insecure pile of bricks, I built the foundation of your confidence and self esteem. You became a work of art, a masterpiece. It was a strenuous activity, I worked tirelessly and I went to great lengths to ensure that everything was perfect. I never sought after anyone’s approval, save for yours. When they came at you with wrecking balls and sledgehammers, I’d be at your beck and call. When they battered you with insults and criticism, I would be there to break your fall. Whenever you needed me, I would be there. Every move I made and every word I uttered was influenced by you. My own happiness was stifled to accommodate your incessant demands, after all I was delusional and i had lied to myself and said, “her joy is my joy.” In the process of being your little punching bag I had been digging myself into a hole, an abyss of misery and immense depression. I practically buried myself alive for you but you were rather nonchalant about the ordeal. Remember, when they destroyed you? I was the poor unfortunate soul to put you back together. After all i had done, you still made me feel inadequate, I know better now. I deserve better after all. The malevolent parasites you call friends will be the end of you. Only when you have crumbled beyond measure will you realise how valuable I was, how crucial my existence in your life was. In the midst of the rubble and debris you will call my name and I won’t answer. All the belligerence towards me would have ricocheted of me and bounce back to you, your own acidic actions will consume you from the inside out. Right now I stand with torrents flowing profusely from my eyes, I’m at your funeral, you’re dead to me. I’ll never, ever be there to pick up the pieces again.