Staring up at the stars—I wished, I wished
I never met him, the creature of deceit.
Lurking in the light, like a predator hidden in plain sight,
Reveling as an angel with a halo of blinding light,
I was hurt with a single bite.
Our blooming garden was safe,
Before it was ridden with serpents around every corner —
Ready to strike at the heart.
Tainted by the darkness, the flower buds refuse to bloom.
Marked.
I refuse to speak.
Sounds of sweet nothings echo into the void.
The mind, a broken record, replaying the voice.
His voice lingers in my mind—
Like an unknown floral smell.
He tasted the forbidden fruit freely hanging from trees,
The lies spilled from his lips, rendering him
The speaker of fiction.
He, the director, casted as the lead role in his own pla[1] y,
And I, the supporting role, feeding his pride.
All in the audience were in on the joke, except me.
Chipping away at the pedestal,
The way each untruth chipped away at my Soul.
The dust of the pedestal flutter away in the wind,
Only to be returned to my door.
Cracks in the glass cannot be mended with lace.
Trust packs up its suitcase,
Hiding his face.
I whisper a prayer to No One
Because
The trust in my Person is gone.