Because pusillanimity builds my very fortress, I dare ask for forgiveness only here. In words you've probably shut your world to. But should you, in time, glance through a crack in your door, I just want you to know.

I am sorry. For my diabolic trespass.

But you must know, the moment I cut you I bled.
And in my distress, amongst all your human nature, you had to build your wall with thorns.
In sooth, because you couldn't open that hole in your countenance to just ask why, I fell apart.
Is that why you dug in my darkness and ran into the night. Because I have nothing but opaque skin, flesh and a disgusting layer of contempt, hypocrisy, immorality, whatever weakness. No memories, no love, no warmth, no air.

But for the fact you existed in every inch of my skin and became the crimson of my blood, I was genuine.