Cat’s Out of the Bag
There’s a certain clarity that comes when midnight truths spill out across the floor,
No more playing the innocent, no more hiding what was simmering before.
You’d mastered the art of half-smiles, backhanded glances,
But every deception has its hour, every mask its last dances.
You thought I was the mark–wide-eyed, easy, ripe for your schemes,
Yet every secret seeps out in time, unraveling the fabric of dreams.
Now the cat’s out of the bag, claws unsheathed and flashing in the light,
Every sly little omission bared and burning, impossible to rewrite.
The cons you ran were careful, each step calculated and slow,
But time has a taste for reckoning, and now the whole world knows.
There’s a taste of rust in the air as the rain begins to wash your stories clean,
A thunderstorm pounding the lies from the surface, exposing the rot beneath the sheen.
You used to measure victory by how much I didn’t see,
But your every whisper now echoes, a confession tumbling out, wild and free.
It’s not rage that settles in my bones–just a cold, precise relief,
A shifting of weight as I realize I am finally, irrevocably beyond your grief.
Your empire of small betrayals, built on stolen trust, is falling apart,
And you’re left sifting the ashes, fingers trembling, grasping for a new start.
The cat’s out of the bag and prowling, stalking the hollow space you called love,
Revealing the absence, the vacuum, the black hole I kept orbiting above.
You’d wagered you’d be the one left standing, admired for your cunning hands,
But the wheel spins, the cards flip, and luck ignores your plans.
I see now the pattern–every alibi, every late-night lie,
The cryptic texts, the half-truths, the softness in your eye.
I watched you play the victim, let the world believe your side,
But the truth has sharp claws, and it cannot be denied.
I have no use for anger; I leave vengeance to the fates,
You can choke on your own silence, count your mounting weights.
The story’s out and running, no more cages, no more leash,
I walk away untethered, while your shadows never cease.
You’re left with the knowledge you can’t unsay what’s been revealed,
Can’t charm your way through rubble, can’t pretend the cracks are healed.
No more rewriting history, no more subtle misdirection,
No more twisting my memory into knots of misconnection.
The cat’s out, wild and snarling, circling every thread you spun,
And as the morning comes, you’ll see your victories are none.
I carry nothing of you now, just the wisdom pain imparts–
The kind of lesson etched in bone, written in the chambers of hearts.
And as I walk away, the rain cleaning the world behind me,
You’re left with your secrets, and the taste of defeat–cold, bitter, blindingly free.