It's too late for this

It's late and I'm tired and I'm remembering things again. This happens when I can't sleep, I guess. It all melds together now, and I can't remember who did what and which and how many and if it even mattered at the time. You've all become one oppressive beast who never wrote me letters, even when I bought you flowers. I tried so hard. I covered up the bruises dutifully, and whisked myself along, on drugs, in holes, hiding, pretending to be beautiful. All of you. I still feel the terror, and I can't get away from it. You're still so big. I have this list of reasons...it's long. I can't keep it, because it hurts. I still keep it. This is stupid. I left once. I want to be sorry that I wasn't good enough. But that's wrong. I want to be sorry that I never hit you back. I want to go back and rail on you. I want to destroy you, your worlds, everything, so you can't be this huge oppressive beast. All of your incarnations. Shit. It's late. Write me a goddamn letter.