To the rebels in my mind,
I’m sorry I didn’t let you into bedrooms or halls, where the best versions of me partied. Fear had gotten the best of me and I wept everyday for normalcy. I’m sorry I shut you up in the attic, sorry I shoved you in with my devils and rotting old lovers. I’m sorry i blew your candles out before they could warm my soul. Sorry I came at your dreams with fix it kits; sorry I told you how awfully broken they were, although in reality, they were the only ones that weren’t. I am sorry.
Now your corpses rub against my skin, turning them blacker than hate. Your dreams still bleed through my wrists and I wonder if this is how you take revenge, like a slow tsunami waiting for the right current. Black eye for a black eye, murder for murder.
I promise you, I regret it all, and not because you have shown me your tricks with the knives. I regret it all, I have burned these murderous hands of mine a hundred times to get the stink of shame off them.
I regret it all.
I try to bring you back, stand on knees to every God and every devil. I pick up the pieces of the revolutions you planted and try to put them back together. There’s always a piece missing. Perhaps it’s the will, perhaps it’s your rebellious screams that I strangled at their infancy.
I am so sorry.
I see you rise from your graves. A civil war comes with casualties and I cannot risk to kill more of my own species. I yield. The rebellion is yours to lead.