Go on.
Hurt me.
You can't match the pain I already feel.
You're lashing me,
You're punishing me,
Because you don't know what else to do.
All your previous experiences,
All your previous training,
Hasn't prepared you for something like this:
something of this magnitude.
You're beating me in this manner
because that's what you've always done,
whenever I did something wrong.
This is something new,
something different,
          (you know that)
but you don't know how else to handle it.
It makes me laugh inside,
cynical, spiteful laughter.
You repeatedly ask me if I understand -
          -what I did wrong
          -what I should have done
          -what I will do next time
          -what I caused
Yet you understand less of it than I.
My actions have thrown you into the middle,
of the mess that I have created,
and although you have not been harmed,
          (nothing other than your pride)
You are hopelessly lost and swamped.
So what do you do?
After moments of stunned shock,
you react in the only way you know how:
punishment.
Look at your surroundings.
Wake up.
You think I'm not already suffering?
Do you know what these ruins,
          these shattered remains,
used to be?
They used to be my life.
They used to be my relationship.
They used to be my love.
You are standing inside of,
          on top of,
the source of my pain.
And you don't see it.

You say that I haven't expressed enough remorse.
How you could even think that?
Where could you even get that idea?
Do you have any idea what I've lost?