Murderer

I am a liar, you know?
I lie constantly.
Every single word, though tasting of honey,
Is foul in its pure nature.
Even with the sweetest words,
I am repeatedly deceiving you.

I hate lying to friends.
But I fear of those friends,
Suddenly becoming acquittances
And I would be left to drift into nothing
Swallowed by my own mouth.

Hello! I’m a compulsive liar.
Yes. Compulsive to a point,
Where I shall lie not just for survival,
But for safety, comfort and joy.
But you won’t even know,
Mainly because I already started lying.

Even my hello is probably laced with something,
Poison that makes me cough up my heart,
Filling my lungs with words I regret.
But we are still friends!
And that is good. Even though…
I could be lying about that too.

Lies don’t even have beginnings or endings.
They are eternal and ever-flavourful!
Sitting in my stomach as if a parasite,
Dining on my ability to smile and not feel it,
Say things that I didn’t really mean it,
And yet. You don’t see it.

Maybe for the best!
Because if my mouth spilled the truth,
That I keep closed with my teeth,
You might think you didn’t know me.
The ME that never stopped lying,
With the fear to lose all.

It’s hard to lie about a ******.
To commit such a foul crime,
On someone I knew best – myself.
But I cover it up well,
With few jokes about rainbows
And talks of girls and bars.