Never She

My hands still smell of
your skin,
and lies told to soothe —
I'm not all right,
never have been.

But I can cope with
being two people,
or three, and you never could,
never learned the trick
of keeping the smiling one waiting
in the wings.

I never let you lie to her,
call her truths false,
exposed her to the
shredding machine you use
to turn facts into fabrication and
trust into traps.

She believes in you
when I know better,
loves you
when I can't.

No, I'm not all right,
never have been —
never will be, while my hands
smell of lies
and you.