he injected his veins with vanity.
drank the lies he told me.
exhaled deceit.
a fake clean act.
a cruel cutting grin.
a thousand comparisons
aimed for revenge.
no kiss to be found.
no warm, loving embrace.
his eyes were cold—
as dead as his drunken soul.
I rehearsed my exit.
for his lies let me see
the one who kept in contact with me.
his gaze undressed me.
his soul spoke in song.
his hands showed me longing—
unspoken, but felt.
a magnetic pull
no spell could break.
the lie I whispered to survive—
the one I tucked under my breath.
fiction became flame.
a quiet truth
with a different name.
a name he could never be.
and now,
I’m free.
By Lisa Grisly Miller
