Their face is a bit murky.

Like the fog that always veiled my bedroom window.

Condensation patterned on the glass as I look up at the flickering light, water dripping down from the shower head.

I wipe the water off my face, but to no avail as the water keeps raining on me. Hot steam lifting off the tiled floor, like the fog outside.

I wince when the water starts cooling down, before my muscles relax under the cool water.

Like how I react when I see them.

Have I ever really seen them?

In this web of fog, I can’t seem to differentiate the manipulation and truth.

Can’t I just accept the manipulation in truth?

I trace a smiley face on the foggy glass, before it fades, only a scar on the condensation.

I can still see the smile, but it’s fogged up like the rest of the truth.

My words are much clearer than theirs. Even when I spew out a list of lies.

My brows furrow when I see them, truck as large as their ego.

My throat closes up, I can’t cough to clear it.

My heart beats faster, as if I’m holding a knife.

I smile, forgetting as everything becomes foggy.

My blood, spilling as I hug the devil.

The smiling devil.

A bit too charming of a father.

I pat his back, imaging a blade in hand.