Life Is Never Easy.

Hey.1

You know that boy that dresses different? The one who wears make-up? The boy who sits in the back of class, hood up, earphones in? The one you make fun of?2

Yeah. That one, the one you call a fagot, the fagot without any friends. Maybe he is scared to have friends, scared to let the world know who he is. You don't take the time to realize, it's not his fault. Maybe it's your boyfriends fault, for forcing the boy down on him. Yeah, you know his secret. Who's the fag now? Maybe it's his fathers fault for beating him. Huh? Or maybe it's his mothers fault for not doing anything? Maybe it's you and your friends faults, for putting him through hell.3

Remember that time he came to school with the black eye? Your friend thought it was too much eyeliner, but you knew, you knew it was a bruised eye, and what did you and your friends say to him? Your best friend said, 'Eyeliner is a privilege, not a right.' and you said, 'Finally get some sense beaten into you?'. Don't you feel the least bit guilty?4

Remember when he came to school, limping? Remember what your boyfriend said? You do, I don't remember, but I remember when that boy told me, he told me said, 'Fagot got it up the ass!'. Do you remember who screwed the little fagot boy? Oh, that's right. No one knew. Well let me inform you, your boyfriend isn't as straight as he claims to be.5

You have to remember the time that you whispered those terrible things to him in class. That time he ran out of classroom crying? You yelled after him, 'Cheer up emo kid!'. You do remember don't you? Yeah. I know you do. Remember that when he came back to school he had bruises on his neck? Didn't it look an awful lot like someone tried and strangled him? But you passed it off as him liking it 'kinky'. Didn't you? Yeah, I know you did.6

Do you feel the slightest bit guilty? When you call him fat, do you want to know what he does? He starves himself, and pukes what he does eat. When he doesn't come to school, because the acid burnt his throat so much, he comes back, and you ask him if he was to sore from deep throating some random guy. 7

Yeah. You didn't realize how much you put him through, how much you humiliate him.8

Remember when a boy heard someone puking in the boys washrooms? Who was the first thought that came to mind? Oh, a sick kid... are you really that much of a dumb-ass? It was him, the fagot, the fatty, the outcast.9

Oh, and do you remember that time you told him he needed a tan? Ever come to mind why he was so damn pale? That being 'emo' doesn't just make you pale? He wore a long sleeved shirt that day, with arm warmers. Remember when the teacher told him to take it off? That you saw the beginning of, not one, but a series of cuts? You remember well don't you. You kept your fat ass mouth shut that time. But your boyfriend couldn't, he cracked some joke, and you laughed, a real laugh.10

You, my dear, he wrote the most about you in his journal. Good things? Far from it. He hates you, your friends, your sick, gay boyfriend. I leave this place for one year, so I can go to collage. I come back to this. A dead brother. Yeah. That fag was my brother. He never did anything to you, or anyone. He's dead. Never ever coming home. Ever. Thanks, I've lost my best friend, but I'm not sinking down to your level, I won't kill you. But I want you to feel fucking guilty. 11

If you can.