the heart of the matter isn't betrayal
it's not fear
or confusion
or even rage
what festers is the resigned disappointment
broken and useless he can deal with
but this hollow passivity horrifies
like he can never truly posses the pain
and there's this fucking inscrutable
arrangement of lies
and miasma of truths
mounting in the silence
limbs splayed beyond desperation
the ugly infection taking hold
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