The truth is I hope this hurts. I want to watch the pain and realization sear across and wipe that smug look from the lines in your face. I’ve worn this mask, faked these smiles, long enough to forget how they feel. Cut the edges of my mouth to mimic the perverse joy you found in sinking my soul, and in picking clean, my bones. Please tell me what I have left to atone and apologize for. My palms are skyward aching for holes. Pierce me with that martyring gaze, you always gave it so well; resembled hunter upon prey. I’m sitting here to pass the time, on this bridge bathed in violent light. Engulfed in its golden demise, howling like a madman, match in hand.