Letter to A Demon, Disguised as an Angel

A little over a year ago I told you that I loved you, and you said you loved me too. Now I sit trying to wash the taste of those words, and their memory from my mouth and heart with beer.

Our child would be two months old if you hadn't miscarried, because your fucking job was more important to you then our unborn child's health, more important then our family.

You broke me you fucking bitch, I no longer feel love, or anything else as deeply as I did before. That part of my soul died when you bled out our child in a hospital in Hays while I flipped burgers four hours away, heartbroken and helpless.

I was sitting In the same exact spot I was sitting in when you told me you were pregnant when you told me it was official, that you had miscarried. I'm a hard man, a tough man, I've been shot, I've been kidnapped, I've seen more than I ever fucking wanted to, and when I found out you lost our child, I cried like a baby.

I've got a great life, a great girl, and I can't even give her the love she deserves because I wasted it on you. When I look at her children I see a glimpse, a pale shadow of what I could've had, I see what I lost. I still see you in my dreams from time to time, and when I wake I remind myself that that's all you ever were, a fucking dream, turned into a nightmare.