Perception

Lies of omission. Death by 

a thousand cuts. You want me

to bare my soul, lay out my

vulnerability along with my cunt,

but you bring a mask to the dungeon,

and you wear it during, before

and after. And when one of those

little whites you told slices me

like the sharpened edge of a page,

you point at the tear of blood

that breaks free, and you say

I didn’t do that. 

(Im having a great Thursday.  How's yours?)