Don't forgive his crimes just because he can kiss them better. I see his stained hands every time I close my eyes. I can’t escape the whispered lies, they ring in my ears like a constant- Hush! You wouldn’t want them to hear us.
I still feel his hands wrenching my wrist. Remember how I wished his grip Would loosen, if only a little. Thought of the tenderness love Was supposed to connote, as the blood dripped persistently into my throat.
It was then that I realized. With nothing left in me, that anything is better than Being worshipped, forcibly.