Where the Hurt Is
If home is truly where the heart is, then the heart of my home is black as can be. The ‘love’ that resides here is sick, vile and disgusting. It’s the kind of love that comes in secret, late at night or when there is nobody around to witness it.
It’s the kind of love the Bible says is wrong, but it doesn’t stop him.
He feigns familial affection with ease, bonhomie his mask. It’s only when he’s alone with me it slips away and my perverted brother does what he does to me with a smile on his face.
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