Poem: More Sad

A poem about when the truth is sadder than the sadness of a messed up story.

You had that story about the flatmate
who had a pet lamb. You reckonde you
killed it, dried it in the shed and skinned
it; cooked and served it — and told her
you were sad for her about the missing
lamb. Then told her she’d just eaten it.

That’s a disturbing story.
But it’s also bullshit.

Which only makes it more disturbing.
But you were always doing that — making
such stories. I almost thought it was
creative — but that’s the benefit of the
doubt that arrives on the back of a long
friendship. And you can’t get people
arrested for their phoney stories.

I no more served you with a restraining order,
than you served that fucking sheep.
Not sure what makes me more sad.