Sincere, I

i suppose you did make me
swallow the burning sword of my
brilliant deception :
i was never stuck in a loop,
had a practical mind,
a well-paid job-

a liar’s career!
ten dozen masks to
fit with each dress
‘such an actress’ you laughed
said I ‘sure was the best’

the sarcasm-dipped end left a
permanent mark.
inflammation within-
a red feverish spark
a red banner / coatofarms with
emblems cut out…

i suppose I did let you
tinker with my precious mechanisms,
lower the veil shrouding a cemetery of
mein’s und ich’s –
each year like another layer of dirt
heaped into a mound
just to cover some remnants.
a personal relic-
a handful of self-conscious bones.

but, again, the whole charade of
me taking the blow alone might have been
just another name called
‘Sincere, I’ on another

© 2006 Underground Voices