Each lie I tell them is another
slash of the knife breathing
inside the heart.

Each lie I tell them is another
tear waiting to roll down
a well trodden path.

Each lie I tell them is another
wall going up inside
cutting the daylight.

Each lie I tell them is another
stain on the soul
discoloring what was once diaphanous.

Each lie I tell them is another
day wasted in the pursuit of
a mirage called materialistic intimacy.