Deceit is
the cradling of substance to one’s chest,
cold glass against writhing skin
a walk of shame across white hospital tiles,
sternness sharp and judgement dragging
I drown the angst in my plundering heart
with gallons upon gallons of settled water,
revealed through the crystallinity of my sweat
and stubborn, suspended tears
In time, I’ll step through the mucky air
with toes lifted by angels,
shoulder blades cleaned by gods,
but until then, I riddle my mind with unsettlement
and think about the meaning of deceit
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