The dying embers of the fire
gave their faces a luminescence.
Their need visible, one to the other.
Lies bubbled forth spewing out,
unable to be contained as if their very corruption caused a reflexive response.
The speaker of the lies throwing each one, as far away as possible from the responsibility of having told that lie, as if the lie and the teller, can be separated by distance.
The receiver of the lie eating them up with a hunger born of desperation,
needing the reassurance of those falsehoods.
Needing to go on, each lie greedily devoured.
Filling their empty belly, contenting it as it is slowly digested bringing a stuporous rest.
Easing the pangs which had beset them from... that day.
The lie is heavy now in the room,
both a wanted and unwanted guest, who can never be uninvited.
it sits between them,
and they know.
© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw