Adele Evershed
A Truth Couched In Fibs

He
spoke
love but—
flayed her back
with his painful tongue
and left her whip-lashed and tender.

He
seemed
kind but—
he peeled her
like a ripe lychee
bit her flesh and left her crying.

She
spoke
untruths—
I tripped over
I spilt the hot tea
I am fine-please don't make a fuss!

They
seemed
nice so—
when she screamed
you closed your ears tight.
She died fenced in by your silence.