Can the dead forgive?

I wasn’t killing myself for you, or because of you

it was because of me

because of what I’d become

of how and who and why

I’d been used

so extremely

but I gave it away, rather

you couldn’t stop me

it was like I was in a race to empty myself out

and once I was hollow

(and oh baby I was good to the last drop)

I just couldn’t look in the mirror anymore

it reflected such understated hostility

the upturned curve of my almost smile

“WHORE” it said and nothing more

and I can’t deny your role in helping make this beast

this pantomime of womanhood

“blossomed” is such a sickening word

why don’t they just say it, come out and mean it

something is stuck inside you

and sometimes you bleed and sometimes you don’t

but the you, that you were, is uncorked

and you lose a little more everyday

you just keeping leaving yourself

and it’s all because one boy

said something that made you think he meant it

or you simply couldn’t stand the loneliness on the other side of the bed

and that’s how it is and how it goes for every girl

or so I suppose

but not everyone kills themselves

and that makes me weak

or worse

at least a little broken

and this broken thing can understand the necessaryness of forgiving you

of letting you go in peace

but it seems so unnatural to forgive myself

I am dead afterall, can the dead forgive the dead?

Can the dead forgive?