The Anatomy of a Lie

I found it lying

curled beneath a lace doily

pretending to be innocent.

It reeked of lilies and rust.

Scalpel in hand

I unzipped the silent sternum.

The flesh gave way easily

soft on it's superficial surface.

it sighed—

like it missed the sound

of its own voice

Its spine was a rosary

of half-truths,

each vertebra a haunted whisper

strung on prayer wire

pulled too tight.

The ribs were ornamental—

gilded with plausible deniability,

hinged with rusted apologies never spoken,

cracked from the strain

of holding back

the actual story.

Its lungs held the fog of half-finished sentences.

Thick with names it had swallowed

and never dared to say.

echoes of what it begged others to see as truth

The heart -

a shriveled thing

wrapped in cling film,

beating... still

but only out of habit.

And the tongue?

Filed to a perfect point,

polished with charm,

stored neatly in its cheek

next to a list of alibis

written in runes.

I didn’t weep.

I labeled the pieces.

Wrapped them in silk.

Tucked them into a cold metal drawer.

There was no family to contact.

No one to mourn.

Cause of death: reclamation.

It choked on everything I finally said out loud.