July 20, 2008

I am just another false impression.
Nothing extraordinary.
Nothing remarkable.
Someone you would never love.
Someone you would never trust.
Someone you would never want to be with.
And so
This torment is filled with candor.
So, lie to me.
Say you love me once again.
Say you need me one more time.
Lie to me.
Such a beautiful lie.
Grief that is tainted with insanity.
Gripping death.
An unloved man.
That’s all that’s left of me, I guess.



July 20, 2008

Doubts resurface.
Lies continue to unfold.
Haunting. So compelling.
At each strike, one in bended knees.

Denial. Clear-cut.
Irresistibly beautiful.
Fooling around. One-night stands.
Beneath sheets, not a regret.

Then, I fell.
Lost my sanity.
Overwhelmed by cardiac palpitations.
I gave in, not a question was told.

No one knew.
Until the day I was wounded.
Not using my head, I bled.
Drowning in my own tears, dried up.

The trust. The love.
Everything was but a lie.
I fell on bended knees.
Wishing. I could have used my mind.

This game.
I am destined to lose.
This game.
I am destined to be bruised.

And this game.
I am destined to be six feet under.

Fabricated Lie

January 14, 2008


Lying is a piece of cake. Take it from an expert.

 I have lied like a million times. I can always fake a smile, or pretend that I’m mad or sad.  I can make stories so touching that everyone cried. I can come up with good alibis no one would believe it’s not true. I can bluff my way out of a certain situation by reasoning dramatically. I can embellish how a man killed by cutting someone’s heart out, or tearing his throat that the blood flooded the wheat fields, and poof, it became Coco Crunch! I can come up with a tale no one has ever heard of.

 All my life I have lived lying – to myself and to everyone around me. But, I have never pretended to be someone else. I am what I am. I am who I am. Liar. “You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest,” according to Jack Sparrow. I am the boy who cried wolf. I have lived in this world with a lying coin – all heads, or all tails; but not head and tail. A flip, and a statement will change. So, no one would ever believe in every story that I tell. Like epics and fairy tales, my stories can die in oblivion. Like a whisper, my lines could vanish after hitting the eardrums. Like the boy who cried wolf, I can be nobody but a lie.

And, if ever I feel like changing, no one would ever know. If ever I feel like telling the truth, no one would notice or believe. So, what’s the point of changing or telling the truth? I have started to lie, and will lie for the rest of my life. Who would believe me, anyway? Who would believe that I’m telling the truth and nothing but the truth? No one.

You might even think that these are all lies. Well, a fabricated lie could become the truth. As logic proposes, the negation of a negative statement makes the statement positive. So, believe me, I’m real.

I could also tell the truth. So, if I tell you I love you, it’s certainly no lie; for I could never lie to my heart. No one. Just look at me behind every smile, and beyond every line. You would know me. I’m no lie.