You must not tell.
They said this time and time again. And I did not.
Yet the expectation that such obedience would result in some kind of favour, some kind of leniency did not manifest.
Thus the expectation became hope instead but it became apparent that hope was yet another liar who appears bearing promise and salvation only to snatch them away and sneer. There is no such thing as hope, she wears a mask to hide that which she really is ; torment.
I recognise the imposter that hope is (you would do well to do the same) and thus I placed no faith in her.
I did not tell. It did not stop.
I did not tell. I found another way – or perhaps it found me – I have yet to fathom that out.
I did not tell. It did not stop, but it no longer affected me.
And so, I did not tell.
I did not tell for a considerable time.
But I will.
And it will not hurt me when those sticking plasters are ripped away from mouth, eye, ear and nose, because you cannot hurt me any longer.
I am the hurt.
And I am coming and you can tell all you like because nobody is going to listen to you.