Identity

A relationship is hard enough in this digital age – fake news,
air brushed photographs, a deluge
of alert pings
demanding instant answers.

You hung out in my pocket like a dirty handkerchief, folded
to hide a morbid suit, funereal black.
I guessed from the start
you were a fraud, whining for sympathy

as if your mother just died – disguising your face
to prevent me seeing the real you
but you were wrong
to believe me a fool in this duo without the guts to lift that mask.