I am beginning to wonder if it is me.

If the joke is in fact, on me.

A practical joke

continuing on

with continuous impractical lies

swarming through our conversations like bees

don’t know where the lies begin

where the truth comes in

Do the lies ever end?

Silence makes me cry, because my heart wants us to sink

My mind asking me to speak

it out like two adults do,

but one lie turns into two

and those two turn my heart into acid,

I am astonished by your performance earlier, questioning me,

an actress indeed, the nerve to ask me

“How can I trust you?”


There’s this thing called “the truth”

There is no life without it.

You see,

Because it no longer becomes about lies

it no longer matters that you’ve lied,

because the only thing that comes to mind

is that you lie.

You are a liar.

And liars are destructive creatures taking human form.