I smell the chocolate lies on your breath
as you tell me of your day
how you did this and that but not what
I maybe suspect you of having done
you don't tell me of that part of your day
it is a secret you keep me safe from
to prevent me pain I suppose
a ballet dancer on a double espresso you slip
between my words and thoughts
a beautiful basilisk with a succubus body
you distract me with blue eyes
from deliciously prismatic lies
let the rain fall down
and wash away the sins you don't speak of
dreams of someone else's life
spioll from lips that fellate the truth
with the skill and ease
of a cheap but talented whore that
enjoys her work and takes pride in it
and I suppose you think I don't see
that I'm as blind as Homer to
the tempest of guilt that surrounds you
engulfs you like a syphillitic cunt
that's spent far too long in a nunnery
don't expect me to believe you, bitch
I'm not stupid enough to accept
your stories just because I want
them to be true

03/10/2002

Posted on 03/10/2002
Copyright © 2025 Gary Hoffmann