Contains strong language
Did you enjoy ransacking my dad’s memories? Did you relish in tying his tongue—making him repeat lines making him repeat lines like a trained parrot? Was he nothing but a sideshow for you? Were you bored? You collect brains like they’re a dying breed. No age discrimination here. A fucking free-for-all. Never mind the children, wives, husbands, brothers, sisters etc. that are left behind. Never mind the teenager resisting the urge to throttle a little girl who has the privilege of walking hand in hand with her dad. Never mind the paranoid hours wondering if he would make it back home alive. You never cared for consequences. It’s fun to make thieves of people. Pockets pregnant with stolen Thorntons. A novel way to learn your home phone number because it’s the combination to a sodding safe for KitKats. He was never a sweet-tooth until you prescribed this trait. I oh so love how I get to use my dad’s death as my muse. How I get to plunder years of repression to hollowly call it poetry. You posted me eternal grief, but I shall not reciprocate. I doubt this tangle of words shall ever meet eyes or gain a stamp. No, I shall not dissect this letter into sections as you dissected my heart thirteen years ago. I’ve already wasted enough time on you.
Yours sincerely, the victim’s child.