I was an innocent until I met him. Somehow he took the shimmering white love I felt for him and twisted me into something hard and green-black. I couldn’t go back. Down I went, deeper each month, into a free fall of pain and want. Sometimes I see pictures of the things I did, I hear the lies that glibly dribbled from my lips. I know I am forgiven, so why am I haunted? I have too much time for thinking, too much introspective emptiness that my mind can fill with muck.

I will die. You can bury me with the lies I told, but see how they are broken. Once I am gone, they can no longer spring whole in my mind to torture me. They will lay like scattered pottery shards in some ancient dig, quiet, hiding their stories forever.

Copyright ©2026 Lisa Paul. All rights reserved.

This is a fictional prose story.

Here’s how to take part in the Prosery Prompt:
• Write a piece of flash fiction or other prose up of up to or exactly 144 words, including the given line from the song lyric:

Bury me with the lies I told

Dverse Prosery Monday — Bury Me