By: Linda M Crate

i know you’re the genius,
and i’m just the
mad hatter;
you’re the white knight
i am the blackest of nights—
tell me something that i don’t know
everything that falls from your
lips is the opposite of
truth,
and i tire of hearing that it was all my fault
we were both to blame;
you should have known better than to break
another’s innocence to replace your
own
i should have known better than to make you
a god when you were nothing but a
boy
pretending to be a man—
masquerade all you want,
but the truth
has a way of smashing through the glass of the
most intricate lie and demanding to be
heard;
i will shatter you in the same way
expose you for all your lies then call it even for all the
heart and soulbreak you’ve given me.