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Dear John letter
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Dear psychiatrist,
By the time you read this, I'll be vandalizing Wikipedia.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.
I know this might seem like a sudden change
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom in Mordor, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but I've been stuck in this nightmare world for months now, and writing this letter is my last chance of a wake up call. I just need a bit of a laugh.
I want to tell you that I think you are a Cylon imposter, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu,
and I am the main character in a really crappy pulp horror novel about rabid watermelons.
You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, bobbing for old tires in the East River, and accusing comatose patients of lazyness,
and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things.
How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you..
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "anorexia", "bulimia" and/or "starvation" in my presence.
I'd really like us to become theatrical actors in a Romeo & Juliet play, except we'll kill ourselves for real in the end just for the sake of realism,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas.
Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.
See you in Hell,
~ Princess Peach.
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