Wooden

by Elliott Bell

Every time he calls me sweet
Or looks with love in his eyes,
I swallow the sting of my deceit,
Draped as I am in lies.

I’m the worst kind of woman,
Nothing worth keeping here,
For though my love is wooden,
I speak words he wants to hear.

If he could see into my heart,
How hollow it’s become
I know that he would fall apart
And I would be the cause.

I can’t decide which is worse
To use honesty to slay him
Or stay on my present course
And drown while I save him.

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