I did you nothing.
Nothing but my angry words to cause you pain.
I never took what ~I know~ hurt you the most, what almost killed you and caused you endless sleepless nights – taking your most precious possession, your sense of self and reality – and ground my sweaty body with it to feed my own pleasure and ego (holding it tight as you sounded slept and I wept trying to find you).
I never told your secrets. Still, I never did.
Never used your most vulnerable moments to expose you to those who threat you the most – I have her on my contacts and never did nor will.
Only opened my ears. Asked questions and listened. Gave you the benefit of the doubt, for you to tell me it wasn’t true.
You said it was. It all was.
I didn’t run you over. I was rotten pieces on the tracks.
(Oh. Cute. You thought of me.)
