So much company and yet so alone. So much love yet so hated. So much money yet so poor. So much beauty yet so ugly. So much love yet so sad.

Acid Tongue

I don’t hear words anymore,
I hear half-formed lies.
I hear your voice reminding me not to psychoanalyze,
not to paralyze, to cut down instead.
How could someone lie to your face for a month,
then expect you to wake up and make a living?

How could someone call you on a broken phone line and whisper fictions,
and expect you to keep walking with your head held high?
How can I pull myself out of bed, talk to a boy with dark eyes, and hear anything but your lies?
Because your lies are etched into my skin, beside the list of names I’d kill to have beside me.
I never noticed that I stopped believing people, when they swore and promised and affirmed.
I never noticed the truth could sound so ugly, yet a lie so beautiful.

But I can’t decipher anymore.
They fall on deaf ears, get filtered through a static wave.
If a lie falls flat in a forest and no one’s around,
Am I still meant to hear it?