When the warmth of a kiss
is a bait that hides the cruelest
hook.

When the promise of better days
is nothing but kind persuasion into a trap,
followed by  punishment for having accepted
what came under the disguise of a gift.

When a hand gives
what the other is ready to take,
only to hurt and control,
desperate to invert
lifelong inferiority
that generates
            angry hunger,
            thirst unquenched.

War has not been declared.
It is insidious
It is poisonous.

Like a malignant tumor
that contaminates healthy cells,
subterranean hurt unleashed
deserves a bitter end.

First, disbelief shakes
the foundations of her little world.
(To trust and discover insanity
Is a blow at one’s humanity.)
 
Then, anger swirls around
and quickens, ready to sting.
Until memories of a previous life
restore her weary soul.

As a descendant of the Trojans
- a survivor twice as strong -
she knows the shape of deceit,
and in the end, turns the wooden horse
into a harmless-trivial-toy.