Dear Johnny,
Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU. I miss you so much. It's like, I never knew what it was like to live until you came into my life. I was so fucking good at not caring. And then there you were with your stupid puppy-dog eyes and pathetic attitude, and I just couldn't leave you alone. Because you cared. You cared so much it hurt and you needed someone to take all that pain away. I thought I could do that, make you feel numb, forget about your dreams and live in a haze of drugs and recycled music.
You made me care and when you left I couldn't stop.
I want so much. I want you. I can't live without you. I just don't know how. There is too much fucking feeling, whirling around my head. Tearing through my bones. Even the drugs don't help anymore, don't dull the pain, don't produce a spark. You saw through it all, and you took hold of me- the real me- and brought it out. You made Jimmy real. The Saint is dead.
You thought you were saving me. You were fucking damning me!
You were so pathetic. But you were in love. You were so fucking in love with Whatsername. And that was pathetic too. She had you on a leash, wrapped around her little finger. And I watched you watch her. I saw the looks you sent to her bedroom window, the way you wrote songs for her and sang them when she was asleep. It fucking killed me, you know? I rode the L train to Rockaway Parkway and down to Battery Park and back just so I wouldn't kill you when I saw you look at her. I sat in the park, in the snow, and smoked cigarettes on the edge of the dead fountain because I couldn't go back and listen to you make love to her.
And then she fucking left you. You were with me. You needed me and you hated me. I realized I was ruining your life. But I couldn't help it. When you left, it was like half of me died. The good half. But I knew that I was destroying you when I was with you. And I also knew that if you came back I wouldn't stop, wouldn't be able to stop, because I wanted every last bit of you.
I didn't blame you. I knew that you were the last person who might have cared.
I'm going to burn this as soon as I finish writing it. I'm not fucking explaining myself to the world. I'm not explaining who I am or why I did it. I'm not a morality tale, and no goddamn preacher is going to stand over my grave and talk about what a troubled youth I was. I'm going to go out with a bang. A last laugh. I'm the patron saint of denial, with an angel face and a taste for the suicidal.
No apologies.
There's no meaning to this. It just is. I got bored.
But don't you dare forget me. Cuz I was here. I lived and I died. Even if nobody cares.
I never liked you anyway,
Saint Jimmy