I find it second nature, really.
The words come to me easier than they should.
A web of syllables, deliberation bleeding through.
It leaves no room for doubt, no chinks in the armour-
The one I build to hide from fact.
Can you find me buried under this mountain,
My heartbeats errant and disloyal?
The part of me that knows you’re here,
Searching, finding, looking for the truth;
Is flinching under all the false bravado,
Shivering with the fear of discovery,
The prospective nakedness a ghastly nightmare.
Your footsteps approach me,
Your fingers quiver from the proximity,
Because I hold within my teeth
A mouthful of winter, frigid and cold-
enough to chase even the Sun away.
And when you begin to pry my lips apart,
I will have no choice but to resort
to what flows within me as red as my own blood,
as warm as the fire of defiance in your eyes,
as blunt as the edge of the world,
as sharp as a knife, poised to strike.
And you may ask all the questions you have,
And witness the creation of a lie.