To whom it may concern,
and by concern, I know now what you were and probably still are Frank and I hate you for it.
you took my youth and my innocence and had your way with it. There are times when I still remember then stop at war with my impotent rage and ineffectual sorrow as I have to relive your crimes.
The worst of what happened all those years ago comes from the near miss conversations I have with others as they ask something that seems like they all know what you did, what you took from me, little more than just a kid. But what is worse in my memory is the acts I was forced to witness in front of me, the pain you inflicted, the shame you exposed, the melancholy that has kept me in this place as if I were addicted to the very definition of taking the blame.
I want to scream until my voice dries up in my throat, I want to weep for the others who suffered under you clawing hands, I will not give in, not yet, I will not forget the others, I will crawl until I can stand. I want to kill you, I want you to suffer, I want some form of vicious divine justice to fall down from the cloudless sky. I want to find a victory over the damage you have done, I want to find a way to tell this all to my son.
The son, I cannot have because even that has been ripped away like the shreds of my fears floating like leaves in a gust of wind, like the dregs of my tears that have yet to dry or be forgotten or ignored. I wanted to be clean from all this darkness, I wanted someone I could have to adore. but you took it all away before I was old enough even to dream. Now all I have is these ghosts that haunt me in my head, now I am is just another victim found among the dead.
The world is often without enough pity, I want live alone and I walk alone, nothing is what it was supposed to be, I am a thing of doubts and brittle stone.
Somedays could seem bright if I could only successfully erase this awful past, find something that could out last the most recent regret. That I could walk away from this emotional storm, that I could- in the end forget all that you were. I would, I want, but the monster remains there in my shadow and then I know as I have always known, that the pain might grow less, that I might have days when I feel better, but the reality is that nothing can be forgiven until I send this letter.
and by concern, I know now what you were and probably still are Frank and I hate you for it.
you took my youth and my innocence and had your way with it. There are times when I still remember then stop at war with my impotent rage and ineffectual sorrow as I have to relive your crimes.
The worst of what happened all those years ago comes from the near miss conversations I have with others as they ask something that seems like they all know what you did, what you took from me, little more than just a kid. But what is worse in my memory is the acts I was forced to witness in front of me, the pain you inflicted, the shame you exposed, the melancholy that has kept me in this place as if I were addicted to the very definition of taking the blame.
I want to scream until my voice dries up in my throat, I want to weep for the others who suffered under you clawing hands, I will not give in, not yet, I will not forget the others, I will crawl until I can stand. I want to kill you, I want you to suffer, I want some form of vicious divine justice to fall down from the cloudless sky. I want to find a victory over the damage you have done, I want to find a way to tell this all to my son.
The son, I cannot have because even that has been ripped away like the shreds of my fears floating like leaves in a gust of wind, like the dregs of my tears that have yet to dry or be forgotten or ignored. I wanted to be clean from all this darkness, I wanted someone I could have to adore. but you took it all away before I was old enough even to dream. Now all I have is these ghosts that haunt me in my head, now I am is just another victim found among the dead.
The world is often without enough pity, I want live alone and I walk alone, nothing is what it was supposed to be, I am a thing of doubts and brittle stone.
Somedays could seem bright if I could only successfully erase this awful past, find something that could out last the most recent regret. That I could walk away from this emotional storm, that I could- in the end forget all that you were. I would, I want, but the monster remains there in my shadow and then I know as I have always known, that the pain might grow less, that I might have days when I feel better, but the reality is that nothing can be forgiven until I send this letter.
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