to dust
Look at me.
Am I truly a monster?
Have I finally grown into the skin of my tormentors?
Peer beneath the veil of my eyes and tell me you do not see
the demons nesting in the ruins of my mind,
governing my thoughts and dictating my every breath.
I harbor no desire to replicate the sins of those who shattered me,
nor to harvest the lives of others the way my own was so savagely reaped.
I am entirely unworthy of devotion; I seek no affection,
wishing only to bleed out whatever love I have left until I am empty.
Waste no tears on this calcified shell.
Bestow your grace upon those who can still be saved,
and never dare to seek a soul within my chest.
Do nothing for my sake.
Utterly abandon the notion of my redemption.
To love a monster is an act of absolute martyrdom -
you will only be ground into dust, piece by piece,
until nothing remains but the wreckage.
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