Literature
Your image/My blood
I have not done you justice in the stories I wrote about us, about you, for I wrote too highly of you.
I made the reader sympathize with your actions when I should not have.
I was in the wrong there, many would claim.
But one thing I know for certain:
That I have done you justice
(Even more so, more than I should have)
in all my silences and everything regarding you I chose to remain untold.
I did that so well.
I do it, still.
I can hide the monster you were to me for so long.
I can bite my tongue and let it bleed before I stain the image of you that you present to the world with my blood.
I can swallow the blood of my own before I ruin you with truth.
I can remain silent for the goodness I once, long ago now, recognized in you, for there were bits and pieces of potential in you, to be someone, to be something...good.
But know this:
It is only a matter of time before someone spits the blood straight into your face and paints you red for the world to see, for the monstrosities you have
