letters to a dead girl

perseus: to destroy

dear horcrux experiment number 4,

in your (short) time alive, you once called me a narcissist. what do you consider a narcissist? you called me a killer too (i can't seem to remember if you were really alive for that one or if my brain just missed the angry flush that always decorated your skin so much that i imagined it). i wouldn't use either of the two— just self preserving.

you called me a destroyer one night. the lights were low and my desk scattered with unwritten letters and memoirs of a golden angel gone dead. the word flew out of your lips as if they'd always been on the tip of your tongue— death made you bold. bold and bitter and the insults flew out in a slew of anger you could never control.

your destroyer. anything for you.

i'm hurting and i'm tired and can't help but recall late nights with dim lights and cherry sweet wine. i've always been good at destroying pretty things, you the best. destroying your mind and then your body until all that's left is a bitter ghost and a rotting corpse.

what a shame. who will drink with me now?

your perseus,
tom riddle