Serena Malcolm

Rumour has it,
You have something
close to chest,
Suppressed,
And
I’m impressed
For somehow you
pressed your finger to your lips
– Careful not to let your secret slip –
As you fed me soothing snippets,
Appeasing tidbits,
That quicked the nail
upon your fingertip,
Stripped by
the sharpness
of a forked tongue,
Crisp,
Like the crack of the whip
that works to
keep me spiritless,
Enslaved by
platitudes that mask
the truth
that you assume won’t flatter you,
and will shatter me where I stand,
That you think
I could never understand,
And it doesn’t
matter to you that
I can,
I can,
I do understand,
Understand that
Secrets
have no benefit,
Parasitic imps that
play their tricks,
Tumours
that will make you sick,
Cancer;
That will kill you quick;
Rumour has it…