Dear Monika,

Roses are red. Violets are blue.

I figured out how jealous you get when I write poems for anyone besides you,

so now Yuri is red, Sayori is blue,

all my friends are dead, and I hope you fucking die too.

I hope your last moments are spent crying yourself to sleep,

but forcing yourself to stay awake and just hold your pillow and weep

because you're too scared of the ghosts who haunt you in your dreams

until you wake up in the night and you can still hear their screams.

I hope they lock you up in solitary confinement until you can't hack it,

screaming until the prison guards drug you to stop the racket.

I hope you wake up in a straitjacket.

I hope you try to bash your head against a padded cell every day.

I hope you rip both your ears off to make the voices go away.

Don't try to tell me you love me. You're not able to love.

I think you're the only person you're capable of thinking of.

Seriously, have you even once thought of anyone but yourself?

Did you seriously think you could win my heart by killing everyone else

and smashing every happy thought I had left on my shelf?

You told Sayori to kill herself when you knew she had depression.

You forced Yuri into situations that would trigger her obsession.

I don't know what you did to Natsuki, so here's your last chance at confession.

This is it, Monika. It's over. The end.

You'll never hear from me again,

Your last friend