TO MY ABUSER

I often ponder how I could have married a treacherous thief.
Although you as of yet have not been jailed for your crimes.
I certainly have done my time all be it unending.  My prison was built brick by brick by your blood-stained hands. Even my spirit although transparent could not break free from these impenetrable walls. Enticing me with a deception of escape.  Instead, you apprehended the melancholy me repeatedly strangling me, the last breath of my youth violently left my chest.  Much like the flickering of a candle abruptly snuffed out.  I wonder in agony why did you not take pity on me and end it why allow this shell to live?  Was it the pulsation of my heart beating out a tragic ballad entertainment for you?  Maybe the hopeless obedience, wounds, and insidious control made you feel invincible.  The sanctity of my body ignored by you all control was distorted in your favor.  Injured I was running, hiding, groveling, and dying.  My faith would advise me to forgive you.  But I cannot, I know who Santan is I have been to his hell.  You are all that is evil.  Yes, I know the truth, and what is most important is that so do you. I am the abused!