MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

Now You See Me, Now You Don't

Stacey Dye

There is a crack in my faÁade
where only shadows hang.
The murk, itís everlasting.

Should you attempt to unravel me. . .
Iíll fool you with a smile
and some clever conversation.

The truth is I am broken.
There is no glue,
no tape, no plaster

to seal the breach completely.
The jagged gash, the gaping hole,
the wound that just wonít healó

this is no scraped elbow
after a tumble off a bike
or a laceration inflicted by a knife.

Itís merely a scar that you canít see
so you will continue
to be fooled by me.