Sempiternal Suffering

Sometimes, the weight of what you did to me is too much.

Sometimes, I feel as if it wasn't enough.

To think,
if only you had been merciful
and killed me once you were done,
I wouldn't be lying here,
ruminating on my desire to finish the job myself.

I am so angry for what you took;
the rage grows more and more each day.

Even now,
eleven years later,
I am still discovering the extent of what you've stolen,
and it's sickening.

You aren't here to pin me down,
yet I am still under your control.

That fateful June day, you didn't just brutalize my body—
you eviscerated my joy, my sense of security, and my dignity;
all of which can never be reproduced.

I may display a brave face,
but beneath my 'warrior's' mask
remains a dismal, pervasive truth:

I was too weak to physically fight you off in the moment,
and I am still too weak to fight you off in my head.