Unforgiven

I find it funny, ironic in a way. That you visit me now, here where I stay. Locked up, imprisoned, a product of rage, while you, Dad, helped put me in this cage.

You bring your new wife, my little brother too. Parading them before me, a family anew. But why do you come, after all that was done? After the fight, after I struck and won?

You say you forgive me, a generous plea. But it feels like a mockery, can't you see? Thanks, Dad, for the words you give. But I don't forgive you, I can't forgive.

I can't forgive the monster you made. The sweet child you left to fade. Your hands shaped the anger, the pain. Your actions carved the boy you disdain.

You built this prison long before, in every bruise, in every roar. You crafted the beast that now resides, in the darkness where my innocence hides.

You say you forgive me, but what of the past? The wounds you inflicted, the shadows you cast? Your words mean little to the scars that remain. To the heart that's been shattered, the soul in pain.

I don't forgive you for the nights I cried. For the boy who dreamed, the child who died. For turning love into a weapon of hate, for sealing my fate with your cruel dictate.

Why do you visit, why do you care? Is it guilt that drives you to this despair? You say you forgive, but it changes naught, for the pain and suffering your actions brought.

So, thanks for your pardon, but it comes too late, for the boy you destroyed, for the life you abate. I sit here, a monster of your own design, a reflection of the cruelty once solely mine.

I can't forgive, I can't forget, the path you carved, the deep regret. You made me this, with every blow. With every harsh word, with every woe.

So visit if you must, bring your new family. But know that your forgiveness means little to me. For the monster you made, the child undone. Cannot forgive the father who won.