You are but a traitors blade stuck in my chest. Not of any inconvenience but to breathe. Befriend it, was my only option but the treachery you conceived I struggle to accept. For a person to know the power of their words, yet willingly abuse it. For a person to own another’s breath yet enjoy taking it away. What fun it is to you to ravel in my suffering. What fun it is to me that at least in some condition I can make you smile. It is as if a quick death is not a mercy I am worthy off. Hatred is so much easier than sympathy, revenge or forgiveness. Living unable to inn-act revenge upon the enemy within is so much more difficult. Life has changed in ways that I do not yet comprehend. But that knife you forgot shall live where you had left it. Don’t worry neither the wound nor the weapon seek to leave each other, certainly not in the assailants hands. It is part of my being, identity and a reminder, of time when a Trojan entered with a loving smile. Some say they can read faces, I struggle to understand spoken words.