The cold of the porcelain tub
welcomed me to a darker place
where shadows sung and
all that I felt was the echo of the clock,
a blade against the waves of my auburn locks.
“You are not who you said you were.”
I still hear him growl out,
standing in the dust of my drive.
“I lied. I am sorry. But I had to.”
I wanted to say but could not.
Now those words sink under the surface of my skin
bloating my heart from within.
I gasp for air
as another strand of hair
“How could you lie to me?”
He demands, the paleness of where he grasped my arm
now melanized in the passing of time.
“How could I lie to myself?”
The thought I fear to voice,
that after all ,half of life is just lying…
with my body flattened against that gelidity,
I forgot my true identity.
Like a feather
stepping out of that grave
and I left auburn behind,
the only sign of me.
“I will find you. I will turn you in. And you will suffer” He said to me.
“All things in their time.”
“ Farwell myself.”
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“Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”