The colour of tar, coal,

the colour of midnight,

enveloped your eyes,

nobody could read you,

judged you based on your strong, masculine,

jawline defined,



they couldn’t taste your cyanide

but she did,

and you knew you couldn’t hide it from her,

the way she tried to hide it from you,

she saw past dead eyes,

a smile that tried to mask the scars on your back,

where no one could view,

your vulnerability,

and if they somehow did,

you would say “oh it’s fine. It’s nothing. Pretend you didn’t even see”

but by the Gods of fire,

you could not lie to her

and you couldn’t lie to

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