Manipulated.  Used.  *****.
Three words that describe
The level of my pride
That has been completely defeated.

Men are cunning little creatures.
You let your guard down once,
Your values are shattered,  
And you watch yourself scatter to recover the pieces.

You try and try
To leave the past behind
But memories are constant reminders.

Smells.  Touches. Sounds.
Three senses that haunt me, body and soul.
I wish to clear my mind, but my thoughts still run cold.  

Will I gain courage? Will I ever find peace?  Or will I constantly cower? Three questions and thoughts that seem to hold so much power.

Me. Me. Me. I need to be my main priority. Can I do it? Am I brave enough to be?

Will I fight my fears that I've gained these years? Could I even control the hate?

Faith, Hope, and God
Three last words
that ultimately decide my fate.