two years and a hundred different lies

you shuffle the deck
a piss poor gambler
dealing new lies
in an effort to paint
yourself as the victim
what was once
a side effect of the
global pandemic
now a retroactive
love triangle
two years after
you called and said
it was time to
wake up from the dream
you still try to play
the woe is me card

do you remember
the day after ending things
sending an article
about dealing with
self pity
how happy you were
to be free
and that lasted until
happiness found me
which didn’t mesh well
with the narrative
of the broken poet
you wanted to maintain

your deck of cards
in which you desperately
wished to be
the lone queen of hearts
just fifty two
different ways to deal
out your frustrations
lashing out still
as your facade cracks
unable to understand
the only suit you held
was one of falsehoods
changing the past
in order to make yourself
the victim of
your own petty games

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