The darkness of my weakest hours when

Unbeknownst to those around me

I tiptoed through quiet rooms, no one home

Opened drawers, their cluttered depths yawning at my indiscretion

Shook jars and pants pockets, frantic for clinking weight

Or the flutter of paper bills, dancing like angels on their way to the floor

Already spent, my stories already rehearsed, carefully

No, I hadn't seen the twenty in the kitchen jar, don't know, not sure

Think I spent it on the kids' field trip last week, can't remember

Breath mints and eye drops stinging, penance for the lies I knew I'd continue to tell everyone, even once they stopped believing 

Long after I stopped believing in myself