Swagazine #4

Last Lie    by Zeylan

it is hard to say when the lie brings in the new day

when a little bit is too much and still not enough
and worse than nothing at all

when a mirror of distant voices and a blend of agonies
steal the truth from my breast and lie all the same, in time

it is hard to say where the line is drawn in the tall grass

when all I hear is the clicking of her falsetto heels
strumming the rhythm in a song of goodbyes,

click - click - click

it is all I can do to remain in an errand of mysterious smiles
when the grin is a lie, and the new day never comes

it is hard to say when empathy becomes mercy
and mercy grows numb

when there are no limits in a confinement of faint memories
that stroll through the grainy photograph of my sleepless nights

when dry heaves and an angry, bitter moon
are all that accompany me as she melts away

it is hard to say what images are painted between the black and the white

when all I read is the fiction written by an angry moment in time
for a dawn that promises never to come, and pays no attention to my lies

it is hard to say how the next act will play

when my voice is lost in feverish gasps of midnight air
that swallow the lie into a radiant dream of paralyzed goodbyes

it is hard to say what will become of this.

it is hard to say anything at all.


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