After hours, when I'm home
With less than a man, a dog, maybe a gnome;
I'd like to think that memories kept me alive
But alas! it was the lies,
If I smoke any of those e-cigars,
I might as well choke when I look at the sky
Or she who had no friends,
Or she who met her end;
She who lied about poetry to win his love,
Now pushing e-cigarettes through her spine;

I was alone, Alone as I grew up
I poured my own whisky, I shared my own cup,
I'm Fine, I'm sorry,
I'm alive, and the lies
And the lies piled up like old report cards
Whom did I marry for life?
I'm a pathological liar in disguise;

You said I looked like a painting, I gleamed!
Edward Munch drew me, I screamed.