The pain painted a grim picture of betrayal
causing tension and begetting distrust.
It secluded me at last;
Like butter detaches itself from the buttermilk
During the process of butter making,
Like the sieve lets the flow go down residing
the solid behind.
My existence was no longer noticed.
I was shunned like someone unwanted.
Blame after blame like the shell fired from the canon
Pierced my soul, leaving me
naked of my truthfulness.
The innumerable shots deadened the spirit to move on.
Like an outcast, or a devilish thing
I was left to act on my own.
