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all the poetry 

got me the girl.

who turned out 

not to be real.

i thought 

she was young,

and wise beyond her years.

i thought 

i was old enough 

to know better.

i was wrong twice.

she was a pro.

while i - oppressed - 

had simple 

amateur status.

she was 

a death wish.

i was 

a trick.

this truth - her truth

was hidden by an

exterior swathed in knock-off linen

and tiffany-like c.z.s

intended for mere deception—

her natural state of being.

i couldn't see straight,

and that was on purpose.

camouflaged,

she was

ready to pounce.

ready to asphyxiate.

ready to kill.

she taught me

venom is woman

spelled 

backwards

and nothing more.