Betrayal comes under many guises
but always leaves the same mark: a willingness to internalize the events of said betrayals, whether real or imagined,
and the strength to repulse someone you loved.

Your eyes are innocent and you meant well, you say;
I detect no malevolent urges behind your expressions
and yet I am at the same time disgusted.
The violence of your insignificant curt glances or the
minuscule versions of mocking grins surprises even me.
They gnaw at my innards and make me doubt every truth.

I wonder at the vulnerability of the soul; so strong, even sometimes exerting brute force upon its enemies, through words, or fists full of hair,
but at its core, it is a confusion of love entangled with a deep sort of hatred of other souls.

It is love because it loves the One who created it; the separation from love that we ascribe to it is false;
but it is also an ingrained hatred because as this soul is betrayed by others, it never regains its purest state of first love.