a luscious mix of words and tricks
Being honest hasn’t gotten me anywhere. Apparently.
Obviously.
It is certainly not quid pro quo these days and times.
My heart still wrenches up into tiny, tinier pieces, my tongue still lashes out and stings, forked and swollen. I think of girls who used to love getting to know me and boys who wanted to hold my hand.
A long time ago, some dumb boy I knew told me I had a tendency to put up picket fences and hand out apples. And ever since he went away, I started being honest. I took my jewelry out and wore it, and since then, it all got stolen. Little by little, lie by lie.
So I want to know: what the fuck is the use of being honest, when all your loves are liars and thieves?
