The Villainous Storyteller
I did it.
And only I know it.
Everyone else only saw
what they wanted to see—
what I wanted them to see.
They believed my story,
they moved on,
they let me go
without ever knowing
I was there to be caught.
How many times
can the same story
be told
be believed
before it becomes more?
How many times
before coincidences collide?
But why get in the way
of a good story?
It’s my story to tell,
and I tell it perfectly
every
time.
And only I know
that the story exists.
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