It slips off my lips like an explicative fricative.
Fiction.
The hiss of mixed messages, so elegant
Sheepishly beseeching me with mimicry and lies.
Truths coddled by a titillating mastery of deception.
It snaps past.
It hits bone.
It crackles with a burn that threatens to shatter
explode
vaporize the calm dark of the night sky
vehemently denying the honesty hidden
dripping and curling
melting and morphing
No…don’t.
It’s too late to reevaluate the allegorical
pandemonium

Fiction.

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