No one knows.
No one knows.
No one knows.
I could spit acid on their faces,
Scream a litany of vulgar words in their ears,
Get on my knees and slit my belly to
Let my truths pour out
And they still would never know that I am a lie.
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It's a lie caught in my teeth with day-old whiskey
And week-old dandelion weeds.
The lie is carved into the sacred halls of my bones
Like some ancient, demonic runes
That send the scholars screaming,
Nightmares flashing behind opaque eyelids
Decorated in black and blue and red.
|
This life is a construction and my blood
Is a piece of the grand charade.
I will never be who I say I am because
I am a shadow flitting through black fields
In the very dead of night.
I gather beneath road kill and the forgotten
Human corpses littering the freeways.
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I am the skeleton creeping out at midnight
To hold wilting petals between my bones
And sing aching melodies that promise
Morning will come.
It's not alright.
The plants are dying and I am the skeleton
Tending to their withering stalks.
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Nathalie Daux
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About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
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