We all know I've given you everything, that – as far as I'm concerned sometimes – I have nothing left. You took it all, because I gave it. Freely, willingly, without hesitation, you didn't have to ask. Sometimes you didn't.
I've given you all my words, and now I don't have much more to say. At least, I won't, when I finally tell the whole big scary truth – which, despite my best efforts, I have yet to do.
When I say that it's all out there... Well, that's a lie. Some of my secrets I'm still keeping. Some of my wounds, well, they're still bleeding.
You cut me deep, you know, and I can still see the scars.
You said you wanted it to have always been my choice. What, exactly, did you mean by that? What was my choice? You were always so good with words, so go on, tell me another story:
Explain yourself, Odysseus. Tell me, Jehu, what did Jezebel really do? Come on, Adam, what was so wrong with Lilith, and what have you done to Eve? Desdemona, Ophelia, Juliet – Othello, Hamlet, and Romeo, what have you done, what have you become?
Products of pride, of desperation, of exaggerated heroics, what have you done to your heroines? Battered, besmirched, used, manipulated, devoured, abandoned... What a fine picture our heroes have painted.
You always played the hero, didn't you? Which means little to me now, as you can see.
I wouldn't welcome you home with open arms, take you back, forgive you everything while you condemn me for nothing. I won't be fed to the dogs, silenced, forever blacklisted, while you reap the benefits of my undeserved punishment.
I won't die for you. You're no hero.
You know, sometimes I feel damned, right down to the very pits of hell – there's no god to save me now, even if I thought prayer was worth the risk. Council of Salem, you've found yourself another witch. As far as I'm concerned, to you I was just another bitch.
I'm telling my story with a stick, with a struggle, writing out all my woes in the dirt. You never made it easy, you made me easy, and nobody's gonna want me now. Isn't that right, what you said? And I can’t keep those words stuck on repeat in my head.
So here it is, my final word to my fallen hero:
Congratulations, take a bow and another bouquet of dying roses, smile when they take your picture, when they part that sea for you, Son of God, Achilles, you motherfucking modern-day Moses.
Congratulations. You've created yet another Shakespearean damsel-in-distress: "Hello, My Name Is..."
Care to take a guess?
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