Famous Blue Raincoat

You live in a raincoat which has no sleeves, buttons, or orifices in which I could curl up and cuddle. Naturally, it is made from the most extraordinary material: it lets nothing out, and nothing in. And it is to you like a realm of caffeine, painfully keeping you awake, aware and in control of what happens to you.
With this raincoat you float, on waves of blue and their frothing white foam, and are content. No; not content. Idle, and at peace with it.
If anything should mercilessly puncture a hole in your unbeatable fortress, you would sink. You would try to swim, but the weight of all those muscles and bones you have never used will drag you down. Should anyone try to show you how we float without a raincoat, you would become nothing but a cracked vestige of human cowardice on the ocean's marble floors.
But I take that sin upon me, and throw my thorns at you. Giving you what the salt of the sea gave to me, the gift of minerals in crystals upon my skin, I gave you a part of that which makes me as I am. It was a gift, and you received it with a small scream.
Disgust lined your impersonal face, and you stared at me and my dishevelled locks of hair with hatred. You were already surrounded by the domes of air coming up as you came down. The bottom of the ocean was calling for you. When your brief moment of suppressed violence had passed, you realised what had happened. Your infamous raincoat was disintegrating by my hand. If you had but chosen to curse me, as Mercutio cursed Romeo, I would have had some idea of the righteousness of my actions.
But no; you did not understand. You panicked, yelped and pulled your arms closer to your body, trying to retain the protection of the raincoat. Yet the acids of my making were dissolving it; you screamed upon seeing the bubbles of an unnatural chemical reaction.

Already the water had reached your chiselled chin.

I reached out to you, offering a clean white hand to help you stand. I would have lifted you and supported your feet from underneath; I would have helped you walk on water and gain honour and glory. But no; you would not let me.
You bared your sharp teeth in a hungry growl, like a piranha with glass eyes. You blinded me with a splash of water, and refused to swim.
When I had finally wiped my eyes clean, you had already gone.

And I had already begun to miss your pitiful presence upon the waves.

I did not cry, for the salt of your unnecessary splash froze my tears forever, grinding them into harsh gems that hurt my eyes from the inside for the rest of my maritime days. But just so your spirit knows, I felt your dead gaze upon the soles of my feet forever. I know you couldn't take your eyes off me, I just feel sorry I had to kill you to get that done.

I shamefully admit to loving a complete coward, a cowering rabbit. A leech, a shameful person, a pitiful personality, a cold fish.

But I killed him, and made him burn white-hot in his last moment. That is my only argument for Saint Peter.