To Truth, who lied.

I won't give the satisfaction of naming you full fledged.
A year ago I sat under St. Michael with you, you drank orange juice and you mused (I saw Lucifer's head dangling from the Earth's equator and yes-)
I tried to understand, I tried to read it in your palm as your eyes were implacable.

I won't say it to that implacable gaze, I won't meet you again in your blue and long hair and ivy.
But you should know I thank all those Greek Gods that you love 
That life is taking you across the sea.

They won't come for you when you call. Your Gods. Do you know why?

Your howl is too small. I can barely hear it above the wind while I wrap myself around the people you've vandalized like a callous child. Like someone who's never loved.

And if you'd taken one look in those warm, brown, enervated eyes 
Eyes that you hate though you've never seen. Eyes that watched you butcher Greek quietly under blue lights, my jaw grinding-
Perhaps you'd know deep in those dark seelie eyes there is boundless love 
Even for you
Forgiveness even for you

And thank your Gods you told your Masters I was some quaint lie, that I was not even real
Because if I were real to you
I'd shred you like the foil around a chocolate orange at Christmas
I'd break you into little sugary segments
And I'd share you among my lovers.
Callous, like you.