scientia

now … I’ve seen you you slipped up this time, but … should I tell? they think they know you so well sunshine and smiles the perfect motherly mother the clothes, house, car ages gone from the “secrets” … from … him, (adored) seemingly sorted out and dealt with sealed in a mason jar and shelved with the other minions but that strand never goes away that … tendril black and oily, it threads its way thru the years, raw but reticent wraps around the synapses and simple daily joys like a serpentine demon with a smile you ignore it effectively for the sake of appearances (if it’s not acknowledged, then it can’t be real, after all) but, oh, it’s real and as tangible as tar … as sticky with a mortality of terror … so the powerful play goes on and on and your role is right as rain - as righteous and holy but no amount of misdirection or slight-of-hand will ever extinguish that blackened flame and I am the sole witness … oh, how I wish not how I have prayed to be spared the dark, dire verity … of you but as long as I breathe and your chest thrums with vigor it will live … life will go on the earth will spin endlessly the sun will rise and light our days the oceans will swell and dance and the moon will sparkle wave-tops … but those inky depths will moan - all the bright, beautiful things will tremble and ache with the horror of what lies … beneath. Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, July 5, 2024