I am beginning to wonder if it is me.
If the joke is in fact, on me.
A practical joke
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.
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.