literature

Liar

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Literature Text

Lies like towers
Blocks stacked one by one-
Higher and higher-
Prison towers,
Master architect locked inside.
Beating unforgiving bricks with bloody fists.
Trapped by walls she built so well,
So carefully,
So cleverly.

Lies that bite
Lies that grow
Lies with their own pounding hearts,
Dark blood, smirking eyes, animal instinct
Lies more physical
More genuine
More real than I am.
Lies that live.

Lies like quicksilver
Flowing mercury
Gliding, graceful,
Fluid words and liquid lines
Lies that drip from my lips
Like metallic lifeblood.

Lies that sing.
Lies of beauty.
Silken words and swirling melodies
Enchanting, entrancing
Elegant sirens tricking sailors into joining the dance.
And my old addiction to their perpetual song.

Lies I need.
Lies I live.
Lies I love.
It's definitely a sick "love", though. :/
I hate it when I lie, which I do far, far more often than I should. I hate being good at it. I hate never getting caught. I hate knowing exactly what to say to get someone to do what I want. But at the same time, there's this deep (though almost guilty) satisfaction when I get away with a lie. It's one of the things I'm most ashamed of.

Alternate title is "Self-Portrait 2". So creative, amiright.
I'm doing a sort of series (if you could call it that) of literary self-portraits. Good? Bad? Depressing?
The first is here: [link]
© 2011 - 2024 Ravenatawritingdesk
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