It’s too late to be honest can’t you look around and see
liars living like you always live in little long lost la-la-land
you lie each time a phrase is uttered at least to some degree
you know everything as it supposedly is and never seek to understand
what others think doesn’t matter because only you know the full story.
Nobody knows who you really are and if they did they would just walk away
every decision you make includes some kind delightfully devious deception
there is nothing left but a shell of a life almost lived and wasting away
if right now you told everyone you know every lie you have ever told them
would there be anybody left for you to speak with by the end of the day?
It’s impossible to tell anyone the truth so you quit trying a long time ago
you are reality deficient so you’ll settle for something close in your head
the feeling you get when you manipulate others isn’t quite love on the grow
you’re okay with the feeling of a carefully fabricated self-loathing instead
when you don’t get your way you alter your reality to feel just a bit retro.
Every cloud has a silver something and yours is lined with believable half-lies
you are addicted to the residue of your razor thin line of grey powdery lies
you know how to lie perfectly by knowing just when to say nothing and still lie
a surge of invigorating stimuli you feel is why you’re in love with your lies
little white untruths so unclear even your emotions are clearly deceptive lies.
The yarn bridge you’ve been weaving over the river bliss is getting longer every day
it’s too late to turn back because there is nothing or nobody to offer any admittance
you can’t reach the other side because with this bridge you’ll never get past half-way
the length to the shore and bridge is increased by a microinch with each lie of resistance
you made it that way with your miasma of detractors and avoidance encased in a heart of clay.
Living out your fantasy of reality while others struggle with your own private truth
is your future so uncertain you don’t know which alternate agenda you’re going to pursue
when you were admitting to a lie is the only time we’ve ever heard you tell the truth
you weave a trail that never intersects with the others’ thin grey lines of power residue
what binds us together is lost when crossed your line scatters when it encounters the truth.
Your favorite addictive emotion is the electrochemical jolt through the cerebral center
when you say something snide that somehow helps you and nobody can or can’t verify
you don’t discern truth from lies because for you they are too hard to remember
the only time you resort to telling the truth is to cover up or prepare for a lie
you lie with your voice but your face and body are yelling to everyone do not enter.
Do you do things to people you know they wouldn’t dare want to do to them-self
do you try to get others to catch the lies tossed from your faulty fabulist tower
do you often hesitate with an answer or simply say nothing by being yourstealth
do you lie when you don’t have to just to maintain your false feeling of power
do you believe the lies at you tell others or just the ones you tell yourself.
You run out of life just a little bit with each and every thought of a lie
the greatest lie is the one you tell yourself every time you begin to utter
the lies you tell yourself are the easiest because you never need to justify
it’s ok to lie when you do it your way because it doesn’t relatively matter
nobody notices and they don’t see that you are really just trying to try.
Everyone lies to some degree in spacetime so what kind of lier are you
there are really big lies and some are so small you hardly ever realize
there are razor thin grey lies and their dark powdery lines of residue
there are even some nice lies that lead up to a pleasant evening surprize
if they knew the whole truth would the target of your lies forgive you?
dead beat poet 