Do you think I come to you because I want you to expose me?
Have you this idea that I enjoy having myself filleted, like a caught fish in the market, my tender guts slithering unnoticed into the muck and dirt of the public square?
If you imagine that selling my carcass is no great sin, have mercy for the fact that my soul is still attached!
I trusted you as my protector. I thought you a haven for my safety. My secrets assumed your trust, yet found themselves betrayed.
Woe be the tale that tells itself to a writer!