LYING

By Olivia Feilden

She sits on the bed

And starts the ritual,

The ritual of lying.

She applies thick foundation to her face,

Particularly along the rim of her left cheek,

By her jaw-bone.

She pretends it’s not sore,

She pretends she’s not alone.

To have and to hold.

Does it show now?

Don’t think so.

And it’s not summer,

So no one will see the one on her arm.

“You must understand, Chantelle,

I don’t want to harm you.”

If she closes her eyes, she sees

Him, coming at her from the other side of the room.

He’d been leaning on the wall, until she said

Something he didn’t like.

To honour and obey.

“Stop crying like a baby.

I barely touched you. Stupid cow.”

Then, “Look at the mess you made – look at that

Smashed glass on the floor. Well, what are you waiting for?

Clear it up!” He raised a fist, just in case.

What is she waiting for?

She could walk out that door –

But where would she go?

This is all she knows.

In sickness and in health,

Till death do us part.

She sits on the bed and pretends.

Pretend she’s not really there.

Pretend he didn’t sleep with her last night.

Pretend she’s still beautiful.

Pretends,

One day,

He’ll change.

#darkpoetsclub