Friday, 7 March 2014


You tell me you're tired, watchful
of my eyes, and that no one hurts while
angels cry; I say I'm more weary
of contradictions
and lies, of pulling and
pushing of hearts and
minds, of wanting and turning
the hands of time, over,
in my fingers like glass;
of words sweetly spoken and questions
asked; I'm exhausted in losing
and in winning the mask of tomorrow,
or the screen of today,
all can see,
that I,
am damned anyway;
whether or not
you show your true face, to me,
as you utter those sounds,
that only in certainty, should be
spoken out loud: said on the breath
of a sigh - and I turn my heavy head to hide,
and close my eyes:

don't lie...don't lie. 

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