the test of time and guilt (tore at my stitches)

"Say his name, wish him to be damned to hell!"

but tearing away at the shame and wishing you'd rot in hell would tear my family apart. yet, i still rot in my corpse who still bothers to walk. encapsulate me in formaldehyde so people will see the child who didn't deserve it and not the empty-hearted ghost it turned into. maybe if i'm taxidermied and put up for show, people can throw tomatoes at me for the shame i bring upon the world. sympathy is a transaction worth my dignity in which i sold for amnesia years ago, though it seems that forgetfulness barrier tore itself down. but i would still dress myself in wraps of tight jeans and colored hoodies with pointed side bangs and scream into a microphone all the hurt i had to smother for 5 years. just promise me, you won't ever buy a ticket to my show.