lies are the product of
incomplete combustion

when the shadows
we use to hide who we are 
aren't quite burned up

the lies are silent and invisible
but they start to infiltrate us
penetrate us

they take the place of the truth
in the driver of life
and invade until
we choke on our own deception

we can't inhale the truth
or accept it
as our own twisted alteration
has replaced it

we lay there lifeless
purple lips stained with
the guilt of our sin

eyes as wide as those
who find out what's real

but for those who can hold on
to a morsel of reality
are left battered by
the aftermath of mistrust
and the poison of their own confusion

they walk around like zombies
fear and disgust surround them
like vultures waiting for rotting flesh

and they are
from the inside they are decaying
as the product of their survival
and can't escape til death

funny how these lies are
entrenched so deep
and taunt us heavily
whenever we sleep

but the vessels inside hold
no prejudice
and can pick between the two
as clear as a
steep precipice

one that leaves you
falling, falling, falling
blissfully

until you meet your end.

goodnight little one

a/n: guess who's back?