Smoke and mirrors

Your story is distorted
Like the face I see
In the cracked mirror
In the bathroom;
The tales you told
Where only a smoke screen
To cover up your guilt:

I dabbed my beetroot eye
With the corner of her stocking
And used the rest of it
To wipe the bled masscara from the sink;

You glared at me from the corner
Of the living room;
You could have killed me you know,
Something within me has died.

I washed the blood from the hair
Your fists dyed with her shampoo.
and used your shirt to
wipe the rest of it dry.

You tell me still
It was only a crime of passion
And it wouldn’t happen ever again.
but little did you know God was watching
And that was the bigest lie of all.