The coffee burns

Yes, thank you very much for sneaking up on me and throwing dirt in my face. I really needed that.
I have no life, hence the sand which slips through my hands almost every time I touch it needs to be thrown at me so that it sticks to my body takes over my skin and leaves me to dissolve into this very earth.
Why don't you just poke my eyes out then? Or better yet, take that knife you keep so well 'hidden' in your pants and slit my throat? Is death too easy an escape? You'd rather make my life miserable as long as I'm around, right? And plan world domination. I figured as much.

I have second thoughts on asking you to make me some coffee now. No wonder I got sick the other day... What else have you poisoned me with?

You still don't know me, and if you ever did you'd eventually realise I'm a blood sucking bitch who'll screw you over any chance I get. O sweet plants of mine, how I crave your substance. How I dream of being suspended in space and feeling nothing again. It'll be a good change from these resent burns.

I am Paranoia.