Sunday, 8 April 2012

Decompression


It started with a lie - (doesn't it always?)
Your eyes gave it away,
a flash of cold fire...
you were faking it, that smile.

The way you stood with him,
was posed, insincere, far too considered;
a catalogue photo of a feeling.
Who was it for? You? Him? - Everyone else?

The cipher was easily cracked:
ceraintly not a kiss that carried weight,
something planned, deliberate like
"liking" your own status updates.

Seven fractures for seven years
but it isn't my bad luck, seemingly
to "be" a thing is not to know it;
Love has no digital definition.

It is a millisecond or thousand years
or both at the same time and if it starts
with a lie, then a lie it will remain until
someone more photogenic comes along.

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