The Truth. 

I’m just a lie, told over and over again, sometimes embellished with bells and feathers, sometimes stripped naked, skinned, and dried out.



Everyone needed a knife that night.

His birthday was just around the corner.
The anniversary was next week.
The neighbour had got a new job.
A promotion was just ensured.

Everyone needed a knife that night.

Hers was hidden between her legs,
Thirsty for blood.
When the clock struck twelve,
She cut the cake,
And eyeballs rolled out.