Tacenda

Dripping With Lies

When Pinocchio lies, his nose grows, but when my lover lies, hers begins to bleed.

Crimson starts to drip thickly from each nostril into her open mouth, mixing with the fibs that flow effortlessly from her lips.

Falsehoods are swept up in the fiery river’s current before cascading down her chin and throat.

The poisonous tonic pools in protruding collarbones that I have kissed dozens of times before.

I try to imagine how her normally sweet skin will taste now that it is mixed with the sharp metal of her blood soaked lies.

I turn to walk away, but freeze when I catch sight of her eyes filling with tears.

The glistening rain falls from her clumped eyelashes and down onto her upturned cheeks.

Before I can reach out a finger to catch her tears, they stream to the base of her neck where their clear color is polluted by the iron and deceit puddled there.

I stare at her stained, flushed face and prepare for overwhelming guilt and desperate worry to override my brain, but I am startled to find nothing but disgust and disdain instead.

Never again will I eat up her lies, bandage her wounds, or dry her crocodile tears.