The Guilt Givers

His quiver is always full, an endless supply of arrows. Dipped in poison.

He has never failed to notch and release. His aim, to wound. To punish.

His victims, are those he loves. So he says.

His arrows..........words.

His poison...........guilt.

Honed over a lifetime and practiced much.

So self deceived, with righteous indignation. Never able to see the truth of his vitriol.

Now he is old, miserable, and alone, never able

to be satisfied, with what love, and attention is freely given.

Doubling down, he slings more arrows. Blunt and damaging, caring not about the hurt he inflicts. Or how deeply he wounds.

Trying his hardest, he stops at nothing, to wring any last piece of guilt that he can, from the ones that because of duty, haven’t abandoned him to his misery.

To the point, that they now wish him dead. But his death will be the one last guilt, that they will undoubtedly feel.

He has wounded them that much.