I guess that now he's gone, I'm the one you're going to lay all your troubles on. I'm the one who's going to receive all your guilty bullshit. My conscience is stopping me from telling you all the things I want to say, like how you deserve to feel the pain because of all the hurt you caused him. How this is a taste of your own medicine. How I can't wait to leave, all I have is one more year. How constantly low you make me feel. How you aren't as selfless as you think you are. How you are just as selfish and mean as you say I am. I know I'm selfish, I know all I think of is myself. I know I'm lazy, I know I'm mediocre, I know that all I think of is myself. There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't already heard. You are mean. Other people try to lift the confidence of those around them, you repeatedly try your best to bring me down. You doubt me so much, it makes me sick. And the worst part is, I'm alone to deal with all your pent-up frustration.