Lies

 

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.
Forever spoken,
it sits between them,
and they know.

 

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw