Poison

She bleeds it. Always she carries the scent with treats. She is kind and sweet to those who do not know her. Strangers whisper of her goodness and tell me I am lucky. They do not know this woman as I do. They do not know the snake beneath. To those who try to love her, to those who always try, she is her most vicious self. I too have tried to love her, friend, and no matter how poisonous she becomes, I still do. A small child inside me still wishes for her love and praise. And though I am still considered young, I feel as if I’ve lived a hundred years. She twists my words to fit her story, she treats me kindly until I disagree. No matter if it be fight or war, the outcome is still the same. She must win. No matter the cost. And yet, she does not want to pay it. She wants to ignore the outcome, the carnage that she has left in her wake. She is blind to the meticulous torture she inflicts upon those closest. I have tried to run, tried to flee her tendrils of hate and corruption, but I cannot. For to disavow her would be to disavow my blood, and I do not wish to do such a thing. For it is no fault of theirs for the way she plays. Even now, I turn into a child at her present, continuing to avoid the eggshells that surround me. She knows my deepest fears and wishes and uses them readily in every fight. My shield and armor do nothing against her wickedness. I wish to be free, but freedom has a cost. A cost I’m not yet ready to pay.