I fell for it.
The friendly demeanor.
The welcoming tone.
The lack of judgement in his voice.
He was my friend.
This was true for years. Despite my consistent doubt.
But I am broken and he toyed with the shards to the point he got cut.
At the end of the day, it never mattered.
He was going to kill me.
I should have seen it from the very beginning.
YOU ARE READING
From a Crow's Beak: Writing in Passing
PoetryWriting that I've come up with when my emotions push me to create. This is your warning that a lot of these are depressing.
