Veritophobia by Claire Ochieng
These days,
I've been throwing up
words with the ash you spit
down my throat
and I keep rearranging
the mess,
trying
to find something
worth saying to you
but it all sounds like
"take me, I'm yours"
and I can't say that
because you'd look at me,
shake your head
"oh darling,
I don't
love
you
didn't you know?"











