The Twelfth Day

I have spent better days, filled with fewer tears; where no force on earth could have shut me out from the world outside. Now I simply wait for the days to pass – I watch as the sun rises and I spend the rest of my time willing it to set – it makes them seem much longer when I put such pressure on the hours.

If you asked me why I did the things I’ve done, I would say it was out of love. You might accept that answer, but I definitely wouldn’t. How could anyone swallow that nonsense? It may have started out with good intentions, but it turned into something ugly and destructive and by the time I realized my wrongs, I was sucked in and nothing could stop the momentum.

I never considered myself a bad guy, and I suppose that deep down inside I still don’t. But it doesn’t take away from the hurt I’ve caused and it doesn’t release me from the consequences that have haunted me. My family faded from my mind when the greed took over; like a survival instinct.

Survival of the wicked. Block that which causes you guilt and ride on into the depths of your demise.

Somewhere, hiding inside me is the me that wants to be pitied for the despicable fate that I have been struck with, and whenever that feeling creeps up, it makes me want to kill that guy. I deserve every bit of the misery I have been tormented with. So I suppress it and then I make myself think of the sadness in her face, of the tears that flooded her eyes, and about the last time that I saw my little boy smile.