Denial

Denial is a river in Egypt. I grew up in a sandcastle on the riverbed. My bed is a shell. I close it tight. I don’t want anyone to know I‘m a lie. I lie to survive. I lie to be loved. 

I only venture out in false eyelashes, plastic breasts, high heels, make-up, a wig, and a tight dress and belt to hold everything together. I run back into my shell when I think someone notices I’m a fake.

Death holds a perpetual open house on the bank of denial. He waits for me to climb out long enough to smell the coffee and donuts, and stop by for a chat. 

He’ll promise me eternity. Death doesn’t lie.

published in Write Under the Moon