I am invisible, they never learned to see me.
My form has been hidden beneath shallow waters,
Inside the grey and the blood, where the pain hides.
You child, have much to learn. Don’t tell me how I feel.
You’ve barely begun yourself, and you have not lived my war.
When I went and laid my life story out before her,
She did what I paid her to do,
She told me my life story, and I wept when it was true.
I nearly wrote you a letter about all the good things you were.
Then I remembered you took comfort from someone else,
Who doesn’t know the full truth, of your actions.
You dug into my wounds and twisted them.
You, quick to anger and bitterness,
Once again never thought about my misery.
My regards to your own ego.
It serves you well.
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