Poetry/Practice/Trust

Trust is isolated and alone, the last relic of humanity in the face of civilization. It still breathes, still lives, and for being forgotten, is strong.

"Friends"?
 * Meaningless.

"Sworn"?
 * Upon lies.

"I love you"
 * Why? 		 >In tandem
 * What do you want.>In tandem

"I need you to trust me." Then you don't understand...

"I trust you."

Now listen and see
 * the inumerable friends and colleages... my acquaintainces.
 * They know as little of me as I of them. We mingle, we chatter and whine, but at heart are aloof. They are reliable only insofar as their habits, and thus far 	valued. Here are those that, were they to know my true countenance, would shrink away, or seek my demise. Here are creatures neither loved nor disdained, 	merely... incompatible.


 * those who may say they know me
 * and are with me at ease. These are kin, in that they are capable of kindness. Trusted? Maybe, the definition seems tenous enough. With them, at least, I am not at guard. The blinds may stand, the masks remain, but we feel our collective ways past them delicately, not daring to trod upon the wounds they hide. There is only familiarity here, and trust extends only so far.

But you, friend...
 * "I trust you"

Thou art my nemesis and my friend, for you can see... me... Every instinct I have screams to hold you at bay, but one of us has stripped them away. You are either my saviour... or my betrayer, and as I shed my armour I show you something greater than love, than hatred. I am trusting you to look upon me, to judge me, and to choose.

I have trusted you... That you may destroy me. So choosing to grind me into earth. That you may save me, if you think me of worth. Or you can leave as you came, both condemning me and sparing me in as deft a motion.
 * I have given you the key.

What I need to know... Do you trust me?