Deceit
A web of lies—beautiful, until you’re trapped.
Eyes wide, ears open—
I watched, I listened,
trusting the silk of your words,
only to find myself tangled,
trapped in the web
you wove so effortlessly.
I struggled,
but only when I reached the center
did I see the strands for what they were—
not threads of truth,
but ropes of deception,
tightening as I tried to break free.
Your lies stick to my skin,
cling to my breath,
seeping into the spaces
where truth should have lived.
I pull, I twist,
but my heart is caught,
my soul anchored
to the illusions you spun.
Why the deceit?
Why the lies?
Why build a world on shifting sand
when truth could have been our foundation?
The web still glistens,
but now I see it for what it is—
fragile, false, already breaking.
And so am I.
Backstory: Deceit
Deception never comes with a warning. It arrives softly, wrapped in the kind of words that feel safe, the kind of touch that reassures. You listen. You trust. You step closer.
And before you know it, you’re caught.
The lies weren’t obvious at first—they were spun carefully, deliberately, meant to hold, not to break. You tried to believe. You wanted to believe. But lies don’t just exist in words—they seep into the spaces where truth should have been, twisting everything you thought was real.
By the time you realize, the damage is done.
Now, you stand in the wreckage, looking at the web that once shimmered like silk, seeing it for what it truly is—fragile, false, already breaking.
And maybe, so are you. But at least now, you see.