you’re not a liar, not to him.
there are words that go unsaid,
things you edge around, half-truths.
you might avoid or omit pieces of honesty,
but you’d never outright lie to him.

so you tell him.  you tell him you’ve thought of
pulling him apart, breaking him,
ruining him.
you’ve thought about what it might be
to put him six feet under.
you tell him how you’ve thought of how much you want him dead,
because it’s true, because you have.
because at least if you kill him,
he can’t look at you like he wouldn’t mind.