Behind the Curtain

If you’re going to hide it, you’d better hide it well – not in Pandora’s open shoebox on the top shelf of the closet. On your pedestal preaching the salvation of the faithful, I guess I came home just too late to see you on your knees. Too bad, because I’ll bet it was one hell of a good show. You stab me repeatedly then you blame me for bleeding and running away every time I see you with a sword in hand. Is it any big surprise that I’ve become resistant to “I love you,” especially when only your mouth is smiling? Who’s laughing with you, movie star? Which of the faceless on that page knew, and did nothing? I don’t believe you thought this through, or maybe that's just easier. Looking back, I would never have made the trip over four years’ ocean to find the missing pieces. My past never stays there, but now I know better - you aren’t as perfect as you claim. You’re no magician when the secret of your smoke and mirrors is posted on billboards all along the highway. Mystique may work overseas (it apparently has for years), but not in my country – here, we know a trick when we see one, and I’m on to you. If withholding is the crime, then lock me up too in the exquisite prison of denial - sitting here, fingers flying over words disguised as a dream…