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duck Apr 13
i say i want to die
but i'm a fake suicidal maniac
just a small fry
who never fights back
can i use a neck tie?
or is there a hack?
i ask 'em questions
yet never doing 'em.
Hope Apr 12
Coffee
and
cigarettes
the truth clenching
my chest.

So I'll take it to
the dock
and leave them there
then these white lies
can greet you at the door.

There's nothing left
to explore.
When I hand feed you
what's real,
and what can't be.

You let your
mind playing games
and I'm playing Jack's
behind your back
telling to look away.

Go back to the door
where my white lies
will call your name -
the protection you
so need,
because the truth is
things unseen.

I keep it buried
in this coffee,
that whispers,
my guilt
heavy enough for two
maybe three or four

My salvations waiting
at that door.

but I'm a single man
so it's really
not that bad.

No matter what I tell you,
late at night on those same docks-
you and me we just can't see
the same pictures,
or the writing on the walls

I hide the truth
behind this cigarette
no matter how
much the cherry burns
I'll kiss your forehead
taking you back to the door
where my white lies
will sing you lullabies
so you won't cry
and I can continue to
live this double life.

A faithful husband
and a blind wife.

But I always return
to the place I started,
where we departed
even when I still hold your
heart in my hands.

Kissing strangers you don't see.
Laying with girls you can not know
cause if you did the
curtain would fall.

Like a record player
hitting that note
in the final song

Let me listen
on repeat,
with this lying coffee
and tattle tailing cigarette

I'll ignore this pain in my chest.
Keep you an ignorant wife
and the ******-
they'll never know
I'm paying one last
visit to the docks.

Stilling here 5 months later
and now I'm drinking tea.
Writing from males prospective
Hawley Anne Apr 12
Why is it that he insist
to put poison in my mind?
He never quits instead persists
until I question time after time.

Its as if he wants my happiness
but only if it is with him.
If any other were to make me smile,
he'll try to destroy it on a whim

Claiming that it's love he feels
but how could that be true?
When if you truly love someone
you want them happy, even if its not with you.

But that's not what he wants at all,
so he warps and twists my thoughts.
which leaves me scared and questioning
Cuz that is exactly what he wants.

He is poisoning the way I think
about somebody knew
tricking my mind to make me think
that the new guy will hurt me too.

This is not fair or kind or love,
his actions are pure manipulation
yet even knowing all of this,
my thoughts somehow are still all racing,
Zywa Apr 7
My mind is made up:

I throw away all my lies!


Beware of the bang!
Comic strip #171 "Heer Bommel en De Antiloog" ("Sir Bumble and The Antiliar", 1982, Marten Toonder), tier 01167

Collection "**** & Lord"
Fumbletongue Apr 5
If you have to lie, then deep inside,
You already know the truth you hide.
The words you twist, the stories bend,
Can never heal, can never mend.

A shadow creeps with every tale,
A weight that grows with every veil.
The truth, once bright, is lost in gray,
Each step you take leads you away.

You know you’re wrong with every breath,
Each word you speak, a quiet death.
If truth is gone, then so are we-
A bond can’t live on false debris.

If you must lie to make it through,
Then face the truth: it’s not worth you.
I think most often we lie to ourselves the most.
Bile Addict
The truth comes out like stomach acid
burning the whole way up.
Needed and sometimes even wanted.
None the less still painful.
Still burning in your throat and in my ears.
A part of me feels like you hope this is my final straw and that I will finally throw in the towel.
A part of me was hoping that too, my Sweet.
Instead I take that straw to my nose
I use it to do a big ol line of the vile truth
while I push past the pain of the drip and the foul taste of your words
I try not to let you see the salty tears forming in my eyes.
I fold the towel you wish I would throw,
as perfect as I can
I walk to the closet that has the least amount of skeletons to put it away.
I don't have enough spine to declutter closets today.
Today Im no better than you.
I lie to myself and convince myself you could someday care, so that I can stomach
the urge I have to lie next to you.
Helen Apr 4
fabric

became mutual agreement

enough to make us silently lie.
neth jones Apr 3
lilly white lies           
patterned in the dirt
             hoof trodden
haiku inspired
Izan Almira Apr 3
You lie and lie and lie over and over again.
Every lie, a post-it on your face, covering your body.

After so many lies
I can no longer recognize what is found behind.

They are your barricade,
but we all know that they are papercut.

And no matter how thick you make them out to be,
paper will never be wood again.
Should I add the spanish versions in here?
she was,
"catch of the century"
one in a ball game of,
a googolplex of pitches
and I catch her
every century
of love's timing
like,
    a meteor
          among meteors
                 riding the waves of
                         a supernova on the rim
             of the event horizon
        of our star-crossed fates
marks the spot
home base
we were in love
as earth and moon
in dance
in trance
in eternity
upon the thin ice of space
curling with the flows of time itself
we were the continuum of love
unfurling into dream
budding romances anew
like orchards
caskets of poetry
fermented odes of promise
     to one anther
uncorked,
every summer of our lips, entwined,
open to the experience of being
      conjoined between our hips, locked,
            and interlocking, for hours
              letting our waters flow up
        and
    down
                 stream
             past
the
           point of living
                  for the sake of sweat forbidding
panting breath
stealing motion from tiring
       treading life through rest
                we tread not flesh but the waters
of love itself
      drank from each other
             the secrets
of our love for each other
until none were had
and only that
                        which was truth, remained
and the secret was us, our love, and its fire
the passion aglow
in the magma chambers of the furnace being our future
calling us into the union of what was
      into the future of what could never be again
             that being, our
         loneliness,
                           our time apart, and our time together
                wed into our time
all our time was ours, as I lost myself to her
and she
              lost herself to me, and I forgot her
           as
               I could only remember myself
                            and she
in forgetting me,             could
                          remember       only herself
and I, in remembering myself, only knew her, my lover, herself
and she responded, "My love. I will never forget you..."
                                    "You are memory, and to forget you..."
is to no longer love her,
                                         and since
time has answered our yearning
for love need be deeper
than wood root
deeper than word
                                roots of iron would rust
                                and love needs air with water
                                iron would melt, forgetting itself
                                in the heat of such love betwixt us
                                envy would poison other lovers
                                so, worlds apart from other lovers
& their passions
we needed space and time
and the answer came, in that twilight of memory,
lost to the abandon of all life, we transpired the love of
all things other,
all things not us,
                 not we
                 not true love
I forgot, how her father beat her,
               when my touch, could enter her womb
               grasp her ovarian limbs
               and tell her mother she was safe with me
               and all her mothers became the song of letting go
               for my touch was that without harm
                                                       without sin
                     my touch was that which sought hope
                                       brought meal to her heart
                                       quilt to her nerves
                                       time to her wounds
                                       comfort to her fears
                and myself became distinct from all that be "men"
                                                           ­                    in her eyes
                                                            ­         glad, her heart became
                                                   her man I transcended all otherwise
                                          to be
                                                   the answer to her wanderlust
                                                      ­                                          for lovers
                                          I became her sole lover
                                                           ­       Only, was my name
                                     she was mine - already
                      and bound, as two wedding rings, became our roots
                      I knew her deepest pleasures,
                                                      ­   pain became my enemy
                                                           ­                     in her name,
                                                           ­                     my adversary
found love, in me, she had
and Love became our messenger,
                                         itself the tree, whose flesh was truth; us,
         whose bark was no animal speech,
                                       no madness compeled it
                                       no age marked its passage through time
only secrets of truth wound its coils of being
only truth spoke its limbs, chorused its fruit,
                   sighed its leaves in autumn
                                               chaste its death from winter
                                          its canopy was the spring
                                                     of all possibilities
and we were the plume of being
        the evergreen oasis of marriage,
                                                itself of our founding
                                                        ­      our purpose
                                                         ­            perfection
              eldritch in              cthulian tembre, our love,
                                 unsightly, in the eyes of
                                                              ­             hate's beholders
        the glare of the blindness unmasked
        their ignorances,
                                     absent of the light of knowing
                           truth absconded,
                           they were              set aflame by revelation
                   the rapture of guru, sage
                                            mystic, gnostic
                                            yogi, and all holies,
                                            suckling the fruit of
                                            mysteries long beheld
                                            at the foot of God Himself
                                            plucked from the tree of itself
                                                          ­                              the
                               ­                                                         understa­nding
itself, the wisdom granted, as if
                                                as if 't'were holy water,
                                                as if they wert gossamer cotton aflame
          no constitution for the raw love of wisdom itself
                no breath for humility
                     no peace for surrender, even, could they bear
the audacity, beheld in them, was them
all that
            was left
                          of shame
                                          transfixed, crucified, undone by experience
                          approaching, not of its arrival had they perished
             of its approach, unfit for the wisdom,
                                          in the understanding
                                          of our love had they cremated
                                                        ­                       in themselves
                                                      ­                         all hope for life
                                          they perished of their own futures
             and became the everliving of themselves
that no future beheld them, for the past
                                                            ­         became the limit
                                                           ­          of their potentials
             she and I became, that love untouchable
                                                     ­         imperishablee
                            even unto
                      us,
                           except in the perfect approach
                              hermeticized, canoes set as pyres
                                 where death goes to live
                                     we die by giving to life again
living anew in love
perfection, the price of being
and to fail, death again,
                    absolute, in failure,
                                     death be, my love, me
for adultery wouldst be, my silver bullet
due her, every moment
                she, the scorpion
                her tale, of another's bed,
                                                            ­ like Hailey's comet,
the shaft bore
                        in my soul
                        gored by weeping
                        my frailty, my honor sundered
                as Jericho, bore by powers untold
                but told, all the same,
                                                       she be my death,
                                                       my living be her demise
should faithlessness be her love
i be ******
                      till never I be
                                              in life
                                              never I
                                              be
for to breathe
is to live for love
and my breath
she taketh
in love,                 and surely
the I be                 dead
                              without her love, spent of breath is my life

                              for my life is her love
                   the death of our love
                   my life be undone
                                                   partake, of my grave
                                                           ­        my supper
                                                          ­         my last meal
                                                   when the fox
                                                             ­        was the hen
                                                             ­                       all along...
"Love Is A Losing Game" is a song by Amy Winehouse.
The phrase is soberingly somber, tragic, but it's sooo true.

Some have said, "ALL is fair, in love & war," but only those who don't love, who are incapable of love, say and believe that, in my most absolute opinion.

Love becomes objectively unfair when one's lover loves, always, others.

People who believe love has limits, and who live to spend that excess energy, not on cultivating love, but on fornicating, orgying, adulterating of all their innocences to the point of insatiability with ***, into *******, and becoming vampiric, enjoying blood in their *******, cannibalistic even, of others, in *******, are, ultimately, those who burn WITH the devil, lucifer, and satan in the fires of revelations.

I believe (fear) this became of my soulmate(s).
That they desire. Because they did not believe that I am God's son, and lucifer is my sworn enemy. They worshipped, and may be due for the eternal fires...
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