Lies have eight arms
like a monstrous cuttlefish
attaching to the deceived
with a smothering grip,
dragging them  deeply
into the vacuum
of anger and betrayal.

They have tentacles
that reach into the fabric
of everything sacred,
tearing the delicate tapestry
of faith and respect
whose intricate weave
took years to build.

They have stingers like bees
and with uncanny precision
they aim for what is unprotected,
gorging on lightness and purity,
a threat to innocent bystanders
by leaving overall distrust
in a festering swelling.

They have sparkling veils
of shiny, insincere promises
which flake off in a heartbeat,
their devious whispers
no longer mutable,
once the desperate wish
for ignorance has been released.


© november child
lies index
in response to: The Sunday Whirl Wordle #264


photo credit: Shannon Tompkins via flickr