Dear Michael and Luke,

I don’t forgive you

Because I am the silent nights filled with rising actions and razor blades

Invading the purity of the untouched

Counting on the healing power of nightmares and an emptiness in my heart

This tragic climax can only be marked by the marks permanently carved into the inner workings of my being

And the vital fluid that has escaped the makeshift fortress I’ve become accustomed to fashioning has stained my sheets the color of mortality

Signifying the blood that you made me shed for your pleasure

I am not an epic hero but my epic flaw is written all over my inability to forget you slimy palms holding me into submission

I am the poster child for make-sure-your-victim-doesn’t-remember-being -a-victim

But being unsatisfactory does not give you the right to write yourself into my sanctuary

Leaving behind the stench of misery and the permanence of sleepless nights