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Rated: · Poetry · Other · #1930519
Yeah... This was more of a vent-like thing...
On the table
where the flames
dance,
the truth lies,
heavy as a stone.

I clutch it
in my hands,
the warmth
seeping
from my skin.

I tuck it
in the
corner
of my
cheek,
dark and safe,

tasting
the bitter
lies
hidden
beneath the
skin.

I swallow the
truth,
clear as
mud.

It slides
down
my throat,
cutting me
like ice.
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