Petals of Deceit

 

Petals of deceit pressed dead between hand written pages

Rescued from the final insult, among crumpled documents and this mornings half eaten Danish

From a friend once trusted but never twice

Faded reminders of the knife twisted in blatant cruelty and greed

Conscience or remorse, mere words scattered about these pages

Acrid scent of decay, fragrance of honor brittle and crumbling

A façade of false beliefs, in ruins, this delusional construct of insanity laid bare

The insane leading the fallen, battling over scraps of discarded pastry and yesterdays friends.

Stoic

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