You ate away at my insides like a cancer
devouring my joy and laughter. 
This ulcerous hole in my gut, your home. 
My regrets were never far from your lips
as you whispered them in my ears,
barely audible, but felt.  
I cannot change what I have done,
cannot undo what is past,
but the weight of it,
and the weight of your words
brought my soul down to the pit. 
How many times 
have you demanded payment 
for my crimes?
How many times have you broken in,
stealing away what I held in my heart
as I watched helplessly?
You kept me your captive so long,
indentured by my debt,
and imprisoned by your devices
so that I was no longer my own.  
Always condemning,
always cutting were your whisperings. 
Merciless were your words.  
And I could not escape the truth of them. 

But now I will run no more.
Now I will turn and face you,
and I will face what I have done. 
Where now is the power of your words?
I am accepting what I cannot change. 
Where now are your accusations?
My debt has been paid. 
Where now are your charges against me?
I will come out of this pit
and I will stand my ground against you. 
I will take with my hands what is mine. 
I will tear it from your grasp.  
Though you sought to kill me
I live and breathe and now defy you. 
Where now is your claim?
Here with me is my advocate.  
My guilt, once heavy upon my shoulders,
is now buried in my death,
and I will bear its burden no more.  

You wrote my eulogy,
but death didn’t hold me. 
Now in life, pen clutched in my fist,
I write this tribute of yours,
the first pages of a new book.
The same account that killed me
is now prologue to my destiny.