A Sour Song

Those whiskers were twitchin’ –

the darkness of a silent January were the pupils that first tainted an innocence.

What an ugly scar for a small girl to carry around.

A burden that only became heavier with time.

Sadly, no matter where she ran,

she always came face-to-face with those greedy, arrogant Giants –

every invitation so sweet and promising,

but the same devil’s game underneath each different mask.

There can be no balance between empathy and narcissism.