The Ring
Burning in the hollow of my throat
is a small golden lie strung through
a silver chain of misplaced hopes.
My lips mouth the words of a song
heard by many, but listened to
by few, the haunting melody brandishing
Truth like the sharpest sword in its defense.
With each syllable, each flick of my tongue
against my bloodied lips, the golden lie
burns brighter, burns harsher, and
the melody’s sword hacks deeper and
deeper into my torn heart.
I wait, in the darkness of the unknown, until
someday the silver chain will break, spilling
my hopes and the linking dreams over the
cold tile floor, until the small golden lie falls
from my throat and sinks through the floor,
disappearing in a dim red light.
The golden lie will never be truly gone.
It has burned so bright for so long, it has left
an imprint of itself on my skin,
an ugly red welt against pale, sickly flesh,
made worse only by the bitter cuts of the
Truth, its slashes powered by the sound
of my voice whispering,
Never.
Never.
Never.
