A lie on Friday
A lie on Saturday
A lie on Sunday
Right before the dusk or dawn?
A promise on Wednesday
A promise on Thursday
A promise on every day that ends in 'y'
Why?
I ask.
Why do you lie
To me? You don't answer
I never spoke the question out loud
You always take more than allowed
Maybe it's my fault
Oh, it's definitely my fault
And all my faulty empathy
I looked forward to every other Friday
Like it was a holiday made just for me
But it seemed like everyone was
Just a little to busy to celebrate it
"It's alright," Mama would say.
"You can go visit next time."
But the promises she made were just
As hurtful as the ones he broke
And even though I knew better
I would choose to swallow the lies
Because lies give you hope
Lies give you a reason to believe
Then your weekend came along
(They always called it your
Weekend, as if you'd paid for it
And therefore owned it)
No love can hold me back
No words can reach me now
No hands can comfort me now
No lies can get me out
Cause
Your love
Your words
Your hands
Your lies
ONLY BROKE ME DOWN!
"I hate you!"
I could say that but
That would be too cliché.
When You made your move,
I knew that was that.
I didn't really, I kept hoping,
That you would:
Contact me more
Help me feel wanted
Acknowledge your faults
Never lie to me again
Go get some help and
Engage with me more.
and no I'm not okay
so please my dear
don't believe anything I say
if you ask me what I'm thinking
I'll just say it's this stressful feeling
that's comes up creeping
it sticks with me
It doesn't go away
no matter how many times I say
that I'm fine.
lying to myself may pass the time
but it sure as hell isn't good for my mind
don't tell me
you love me
I know that it's not true
for if you did
you never would've left me for her
would you?
And,
I whispered lies to my own heart
Just to avoid more damage
No venomous cobra's stab e'er stung,
Like nectared lies on a false friend's tongue.
Better by far the deadliest foe
Who does not fail to let you know
He is your foe, nor does it smart
As badly, when he rends your heart.
I spent my money trying to elect you Mayor
A. D. Blood.
I lavished my admiration upon you,
You were to my mind the almost perfect man.
You devoured my personality,
And the idealism of my youth,
And the strength of a high-souled fealty.
And all my hopes for the world,
And all my beliefs in Truth,
Were smelted up in the blinding heat
Of my devotion to you,
And molded into your image.
And then when I found what you were:
That your soul was small
And your words were false
As your blue-white porcelain teeth,
When I first came to Spoon River
I did not know whether what they told me
Was true or false.
They would bring me the epitaph
And stand around the shop while I worked
And say “He was so kind,” “He was so wonderful,”
“She was the sweetest woman,” “He was a consistent Christian.”
And I chiseled for them whatever they wished,
All in ignorance of the truth.
But later, as I lived among the people here,
I knew how near to the life
Were the epitaphs that were ordered for them as they died.
But still I chiseled whatever they paid me to chisel
And made myself party to the false chronicles
Of the stones,
Even as the historian does who writes