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A Bruise on the Soul

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It starts with a lie.
Bursting forth like treacherous waters,
demented, murky, hiding the truth.



Inescapable,

a noose around the neck.
Tightening with each step in the wrong direction.
Tightening every time you quench the threatening curse.
Tightening until there is nothing left.



Nothing.


Nothing but the lie.



It is seductive,

easier than the pain of truth.
Easier to cower in the dark than answer the questioning light.
Easier to pretend so that the accusing finger stops staring in your face.


Until history repeats itself.

The weed releases its seeds.
Plaguing the ones that matter and the ones who do not even know it.



Yet.




Guilt,
it gnaws at your decency and feasts on your faith.
It casts shadows on life and offers death to your face.
It manipulates deceit and breathes down your neck.



Swallowing your life.



Murdering what’s left.





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