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To The One I Hate

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I look back on that night sometimes, and I wonder why I didn't let you die. I didn't have to stop you, it was harder than it would have been to help you. The reasons were selfish.  I did it for the love of a woman, who's love I would never have, who's touch I'd never know. I knew it at the time, but I was able to convince myself that I would one day hold her and love her. I Ikept that shell of a lie at least long enough to stop your death and save your life.

And what good has come of it? To waste your life, rotting in a small room, in a filthy apartment, and surrounded by people who you feel can smell your mistrust, sense your disquiet? Did I save you to wallow in self-pity and hatred of thine own self? I'd imagine so.

I see you, I see you every single day and I see you waste everyday that I gave you. You'd be rotten now, meat spoiled and useless if I had allowed your death, and yet you still waste away in living flesh. You allow yourself to feel hatred that's not there, seek love that isn't there. You spend your life, wanting the things in the darkness when the light is preparing to blind you.

Stop wasting my time. Stop wasting everyone else's with your petty emotional baggage. You, who are stronger than this, who I have seen fight off several people at once, both physically and mentally, who has endured more than many, but not suffered more than most. Get over yourself, you sorry sap.


I didn't have to, but I saved you, so you could live many more years, and possibly, if you're lucky, die warm and old in your bed, instead of with a hole in your head, alone in a deer stand.

It's often said to write what you know, what you feel. This should more aptly be called "A Letter to Myself", but I don't really consider it being written to me personally. It's more to my self-doubts, my sins and reservations that I feel hold me back.

As the author of this piece, I find the most intersting part of this to be very ineternal. I felt no hate, nor self-pity, nor any other negitive emotions as I wrote this. I felt like writing a story about myself, and this is what came back. Granted, at this point in time I'm horribly exausted, and will probably think this piece is terrible tomorrow, but for now, I like it. And maybe it'll inspire me more when I wake up.

So, any good/bad crit?
Current Mood:
exhausted exhausted
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[User Picture]
On June 27th, 2007 09:34 am (UTC), spookyalex commented:
Jesus, way to lay it all out on the table. Doubt I could have put it any better myself.
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