the price of her lies

her house, a rented place,
had a dark feel to it.
a temporary spot on a folded
map.
not haunted
but cursed in some suburban
way.
as if joy
had never been present.
a burial ground
of secrets. hers and others.
she kept the walls bare,
simple
and clean, devoid of any
imagination or sense
of hope.
a bus stop on the way to
another bus stop.
nothing was hers, someone
else
bought the bed, the chair,
the television.
even the pots and pans
had stickers on them.
she built an altar
for her prayers, but
there was a price to pay
for being here. being a
mistress. and she's still
paying, once more, for
all those she has lied
to and betrayed.