Lux Lucis Liar
sometimes I wonder
what you would have done to me, next
you destroyed my spirit so thoroughly,
you must have an intimate knowledge of the killing act:
perfect to frame me for murder?
(of who? who does it matter? certainly not to you.)
all the little details are there,
the lifting of a bladed finger
the threat slipping from venom-toxed lips
the repeated lies
(when screamed loud enough & often enough,
become indisputable truth
to those who talk to the talk but never walk it;
to those who wear tragedy like advertising
anything that will make them money
that will call their vile tribe to them
shaking and waving those signs:
"CHEAP TUESDAYS!!! truths half-told! lies bolstered & fortified!
TODAY ONLY! and every other day!")
murderers who clothe themselves in light & righteousness
the luminescence of their pretext & pretense
shining so brightly it blinds -- a calculated move!
(no blade can strike home if the swordsman cannot see;
a light that obscures halos made of lead and antimony
corroded black as sin and baneful as fuck.
flowerchoked hipstrixes with too-wide leering lips
& heads shaped like tropical fruit
that kiss the poison straight from the devil's mouth
and leave him puzzled, astounded
(perhaps even envious)
behind the screen, behind the mirror:
a smoke-cloaked duality of witches,
cast dark, but with candle flames in their hearts.
frowning softly at the puzzle pieces,
fingers as frail and thin as birch branches
trembling as the actual picture
"truth is malleable.
trust it no more than a lie."
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