The Liars Book

"I went to get groceries."

he sits across me at the dinner table
knife digging into the steak.
he asks me where i was
"i went to get groceries,"
i whimper.
"we were out of milk."

the knife scrapes against the plate.
the momentum of the screeches match the nervous tapping of my fingers
on the table
to create a twisted
broken
rhythm.
"you know, i don't like being lied to."
he looks up me,
eyes half-lidded.
i see the fire behind them,
the tension is
growing
growing
growing.

"I'm not lying!"

the knife clatters
the sound of the plate
crashing
falling apart
breaking
like my factecious shield of courage.

in the utensil
i see my reflection-
admiring the way
my face curves.
it reminds me of
how i have been feeling lately.
me, but not myself.
my body, yet i don't own it.

"give them to me,"
he spits.
there is rage in his shaking voice
growing
growing
growing.

"give. them. to. me. "
each syllable
dragged out
and then stopped.
i imagine
that is my life.
dragged out. long pauses.
halt.

he is infront of me now.
he grabs the fists
i so tightly held
behind my back.
he rips them apart
and my seams come undone.
i watch as
he takes away
my only source of happiness.
the plastic crinkles as he takes them.

my eyes,
sunken in,
highlighted by my hollow bones,
stare into his disappointed ones.

"i thought you stopped."

i can only focus on
the little spheres in the plastic bag he is holding.
my happiness.
my sanity.
my life.
all concealed within plastic cages.
i reach out
he pulls away.
i bid my happiness goodbye

i guess i'll get more groceries tomorrow, then.