Just words …

I have laid with a lie.
I have embraced artists of treason.

I have played these parts…I have loved these characteristics in others.

I am pondering my heartache as I grab the edge of my mourning shroud. I can taste my pain as it bubbles from within, to the back of my throat.

My mind is filled with thoughts of the dead I cry over.

I have laid with a lie.
I have loved an artist of treason.

I have not played this role. I did not know the rules. Together we critiqued these traits in others.

I am embracing my pain as I grasp at truth to understand.
I know the answer and it is bitter and a final slam.

…like the door of a tomb sealed shut.

I loved a beautiful soul,
Embedded in an artist of things of mystery.

I played beloved to these parts.
A type of relationship I admired in others.

My “rock like” memories are cold as I grasp the tips of them to see what’s left.

They crumble like clay dirt.

I laid with a lie.

And now I must mourn a death of what never existed – and add a marker of treason to its head.

I knew not – the cost of loving the familiar mystery.

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