I must have known that the hand that feeds me would be the one to hurt me.
As the open hand crushes into a fist, I will crouch low, and prepare myself for the blow.
Punchdrunk. That's what I call it. The way they sway, side to side - struggling to stay upright. They must feel dizzy. We all do, especially at times like this. Their strikes will not deafen how much I care for them.
Today, I will take a pry bar, and pull out every bit of my love for them.
I will remove all sin from my body. I will be kind.
I will remove all my faith for them. I will be deceitful.
I will remove all lies from my mouth. I will be candid.
Foolish. That's what I was. I was gullible, child-like. Short apologies always seep through their mouth as drool and muck drip from mine. Oh how I gaze into their eyes, no hate, no sadness, just pure love.
I will remove my trust.
