who can we trust?

Nothing changes and I have understood nothing.

Individual names and places, titles and faces

are irrelevant.

All abuse starts with trust.

Age and experience bring world-weary cynicism

but not to me.

I, gullible fool, want to believe in some Arthurian dream

of trust, honour and chivalry,

where men stand by their word.

I walk willingly into the arms of my abuser

bringing payment not suspicion.

Again I find myself discarded,

used and unwanted,

humiliated by my own naivety.

This time I do not have fifty years to learn.

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