“If I can’t trust your truths/ then what do I make of your lies”
-Chester Arthur Kent

Never had a lover who said
“I love you”;
Never not meaning those words.
But I never had a lover
who truly always told the truth.

Point being,
everyone lies.
I say “I’m fine” tell how
I’ll deal with the pain (burrowed)
buried in my Achilles like
a knife.
I limp away.

But off scene,
I scheme how to get
even—
to take that pain like a knife
in my Achilles
and sink it into some (coveted
and covert) covered soft sot.

Secretly I laugh at
how my blood rushed
in sharp obvious
edges will
begin to rust and
rot.
(Succinct is this damage….)

[Really that was all a lie/ I plan on taking a Crying Game shower/
back stiff like a board/ it all lies like a Housewife/ with a knife/ her
Desperate husband cheats as if real life was just like Monopoly]