White Lies

or was it white lines?
I suppose,
in the romance of it all,
she married the lies, to get the lines.

and in some infinite world, where she’s immortal,
it does not matter what lie made the line.

as long as there is a line.

she lays in her bed, layered in guilt,
what to say to me next, I bet she has no clue.

Once.
it just had to happen once.

before I was knee deep in a desk lined up with lies.

A crystal white.
a decadent white,
she fell in love with the way her body sang,
with the way her heart pattered against a drum,
with the way her eyes gave out before she could give in.

Just lie to me,
and tell me you’ll make it out of here alive.