Honesty was the towel that dried up the stream of our love.
The truth may set you free
but it lets you out the back door
over the barbed wire and
walls lined with bits of broken glass.
By the time you get out of prison
you are usually too fucked up to care.
If you had lied to me forever
I could have drowned in rose-scented waters
flowing beneath the mid-afternoon sun
laced with the bittersweet poison of deceit.
I could have slipped away softly
on the waves of your gentle falsehoods,
rotting from the inside out
but not realizing what was happening
until I was comfortably numb with ignorance.
But instead you turned the mirror so fast that it shattered
and in your desperation you cut me
so deeply that the blood welled up through the stitches,
dark red streaks dripping down my body.
Even if this wound heals the white scar will rise—
jagged and cruel—
an eternal mark on my soul
to forever remind me
that the truth may set you free
but a lie may convince you
that you were never imprisoned in the first place.
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