There were guns buried beneath the garden bed
I hoped against all hope we wouldn't need them
I wasn't sure if she was lying or not
But I never was.
She was a teller of stories
An idle threat teetering on the edge of insanity
She was perfection
The bones of a vulture playing love in a dove
The masses falling at her feet
A queen of sadistic delights.
God… she could play the game
Her mind… such a beautiful terror to behold
She was so fucking beautiful
… on the outside
Though I’m sure she was the spawn of Satan
With crazy eyes to tell crazy stories
She could take you to hell and make you like it
(She never said she wasn’t evil)
With guns… buried… in the garden…
I almost believed her
Though I never could love her right…
Amid the horror films and psychic readings
Where I learnt to hide the things inside
Don’t lie, never lie, she knows, you know?
Another puppet on a string
Another weak willed child set up to take the fall
And yet I never told the truth.
‘Cause she said…
It wasn’t my problem
I was safe
She would punch me…
If I ever told.
She said there were guns buried beneath the garden bed
We never did need them
I’m not sure what we would have done
With imaginary guns anyway.
Indie Adams 2012