Mm.
I cannot possibly find the words to describe my /feelings/. My thoughts and emotions are burning through my flesh as I ponder this.
It's like being tormented on the inside when this thing finds ways to hurt me. Being abused when nobody is there. It's not a person, for it's too /monstrous/ to be anything of the sort. I figure it to be an animal. /wild beast/
I don't know what it wants with me, and I don't know why it won't leave me alone. I didn't do anything to it to deserve the punishment besides protect the /one/ who needs it. Or, at least, I try. As I tried protecting him, I threw myself into a dimension unfamiliar to myself. It is like no place I've ever been to, and if I could, I would thrust myself back /out/ of it. I don't want to be there, and I can't get it or the thing out of my thoughts.
It all makes me wonder what it means. /Why/ I have to go through it. It drives me out of sanity when feeling hurt or seeing a child beaten almost to death and left with nothing for days. Not even the warmth of a loving mother is there because the bitch has decided she wants nothing with them. The child has no fight left in him because he knows there is no point. His bastard of a father, his monster will always be there to protect him as long as he gets his way.
Even in reality, I can't do much to protect a boy from his own relations. The closet has become his new house of pain. I /want/ to protect and save him, but he won't allow it. I probably couldn't anyway.
It's like being tormented on the inside when this thing finds ways to hurt me. Being abused when nobody is there. It's not a person, for it's too /monstrous/ to be anything of the sort. I figure it to be an animal. /wild beast/
I don't know what it wants with me, and I don't know why it won't leave me alone. I didn't do anything to it to deserve the punishment besides protect the /one/ who needs it. Or, at least, I try. As I tried protecting him, I threw myself into a dimension unfamiliar to myself. It is like no place I've ever been to, and if I could, I would thrust myself back /out/ of it. I don't want to be there, and I can't get it or the thing out of my thoughts.
It all makes me wonder what it means. /Why/ I have to go through it. It drives me out of sanity when feeling hurt or seeing a child beaten almost to death and left with nothing for days. Not even the warmth of a loving mother is there because the bitch has decided she wants nothing with them. The child has no fight left in him because he knows there is no point. His bastard of a father, his monster will always be there to protect him as long as he gets his way.
Even in reality, I can't do much to protect a boy from his own relations. The closet has become his new house of pain. I /want/ to protect and save him, but he won't allow it. I probably couldn't anyway.