The Apocalypse

The apocalypse and I used to be close. We used to spend so much time together that people wouldn't recognize me unless I was with her.

I used to trust the apocalypse.

And my naivety let the apocalypse take advantage of me.

First, the apocalypse pushed all my friends away.

I told the apocalypse to chill, but the apocalypse gets jealous when I spend more time with other people than her.

The apocalypse disrespected me because that's what she does, and I let her.

The apocalypse lied to me.

She took my hand, looked into my eyes and said she needed me! And I thought I needed her too.

Then the apocalypse stole me from myself, dressed in my clothes and tricked everyone into believing she was me.

Last week, the apocalypse convinced me to lay in bed for hours on end. She guilt tripped me into thinking I would be better off doing nothing, wasting away with her.

The apocalypse finds every way she can to ruin my days, sometimes weeks, maybe months.

The apocalypse needs a reaction out of me to survive.

The apocalypse never left me alone when I was sad, but she never comforted me either.

I do not want to be friends with the apocalypse anymore, I want to kill the apocalypse.

The apocalypse took my home, my peace of mind.

She walked straight through the front door, knocked over all of the picture frames, rummaged through the fridge, gutted the place clean from the attic to the basement, then burned the whole building down.

The apocalypse does not love me, because the apocalypse destroys everything and can only offer the end of the world.

I know the apocalypse isn't good for me, but sometimes she tries to pull me in closer again.

When the apocalypse finally ends, I will still be here.

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