Familiar Hands.

It wasn’t a stranger’s knife...
It was the familiar hands I loved...those who knew my name...They didn’t jus leave...they vanished...

At my the lowest point, Their words, their silence,
their turning away
became the nails
that pierced my heart...Piercing, deep, into the center of my being...

And in that ache
I understood a sacred sorrow:
how love can be answered
with a cross...

For the cruelest wound
is not from the world,
but from the hands
you trusted to hold you...

They have abandoned me...
Leaving me to bear the weight
Of their undeserved disdain... I am nailed here...by the ones I trusted most...
Carl Nicolas.