Twisted Love
Twisted Love
Most people will think that I’m a pathetic person who only complains about old shit.
Well, maybe I am.
But still I try to hide it, not to show it and to put on a smile everyday.
Most brainless bastards don’t know a thing about me.
Well, they aren’t ought to know.
But still it hurts me, deep inside.
I still tell everyone who knows it that I’m over it.
But it’s not true…
It still hurts. More and more by the day.
I want to let people see it, but I don’t have the courage.
I’m not a liar, an attentionwhore, or whatever!
I am just a person who has been through a lot of shit.
I can’t help it, blame him for it!
Some people get angry with me, because I bluntly say that I hate my father.
Yes, I do hate him.
I bet a lot of people do.
For me, fathers are just useless characters who screw everything.
But that’s my point of view, so don’t take it too personal…
But still, somewhere deep down in my chest I still care for him.
The love has died, but my childlike innocence didn’t.
Not that I am innocent anymore,
It has all been taken from me.
The bastard took all of it for himself and left me in the darkness of my own childlike nightmares.
When he was drunk he shouted, insulted my mother.
Eventually he collapsed on the sofa or his bed.
And I did nothing, all I did was protecting my little brother from him, with my age of seven.
But still, those nights haunt me.
It’s a sick way to think your own father has done stuff to his own child, his own blood and flesh.
But yes, it still happens these days.
It’s as if incest is more common, the forceful way.
The brainwash way, the sick way.
And as a child you only want to forget those things, you don’t talk about it.
You simply keep it for yourself and hide it from the outside. Even from your own mother and family.
And eventually, years later, suddenly you know that something is terribly wrong with that man.
You look in the mirror and you see yourself as a young child; dirty, broken, alone, scared.
Please, don’t ask me what happened. I don’t really know myself anymore.
My memories are just… faint pictures that sometimes shoot through my mind.
It’s not a story, just a bunch of pictures who belong to each other.
But still, I can’t forgive him.
The way he treated me, the way he insulted me, the way he used me, the way he scared me, the way he brainwashed me, the way he loved me, the way he lied to me, the way he left me. The way he betrayed me.
Just a twisted love; father and daughter.
Just another twisted love in this twisted world…
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