Letter to the bystander- The worst part of those years was having you watch. Red eyes, tweaked out smile. You watched those disgusting hands pull down jeans that hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine for far too long. You heard him say "This is what a french kiss is" You heard "just kiss it, it likes that" You heard "lay down on you stomach and let me do this. It'll be fun" You heard "There it is" You watched and you heard. My rape. My ruin. You were supposed to stop this. But you didn't, and instead just smiled that crooked, doped up smile and let your crusty demon eyes soak in what was going on on the bed next to you. I wasn't just raped by him. You did it too. Not too long after, you overdosed on oxy and died. When I heard you died drowning in a puddle of your own vomit, I smiled.