It .. Hurts Me

They do not get it. Not one of them. Not one of them bothers to understand what it means to me .. why it means ... to me. They believe it is a joke .. a thing to tease and taunt with. It does not amuse me. It is not funny to me.

I am not very good at showing fear .. pain. I am not very good at communicating my own desperation for understanding. If not understanding .. at least a modicum of mercy. Instead there is only salt for the wound. A powder of bubbling to lance the infection lest it seal .. keeping it forever open and weeping. Never to heal. Fluid like wasted tears sent to protect .. instead it is splattered in sopping pools of freshened memory.. over and over. The abstract pictures it paints etched forever across my ocular window marring the view of my most precious desire.

It is not a toy .. it was not meant to be a string to puppet my reactions. I can not forgive the manipulations of my time and energy. Their laughter like a lance that severs every link I attempt to keep with my better parts .. leaving only malicious intent in the shadows of my gaze. An easy smile as I start my own countdown .. 3 .. 2 . 1

There is no guilt they can attach to me that will change how I feel. There is no precious illusion that will color it differently for me. There is no expectation strong enough to make me forget how easily they use this thing to test my resolve.

I will remember.

Each chuckle .. every easy joke thrown to the sleen to tear apart and devour in their eclectic waste of inferior existence.

I will remember.

Every careless whisper .. every verbal image painted to invoke my inevitable response.

I will remember.

Each one of them marked by the stigmata of their transgression. Their cowardice ... their shame like a battle cry that gives me purpose and strength to rise with weapon .. and resolve to lay waste to their soul.

I will remember.

Each and every one who breaks .. that Rule.