He lives in a world
Of never and always
Even though there is
No such land.
You could explain
All the facts to him
But he would fail to
Grasp them or understand.

It’s all about opinion
And how he feels
And the way he thinks
About what he sees.
Nothing fazes him
Nothing teaches him
And no hint of reality
Brings him to his knees.

He only cares about
What he wants to have
Or what he wants
To make you believe.
He doesn’t love anyone
He hates almost everyone
He only gets upset
But he never grieves.

He looks into the mirror
And only sees himself
Because in his universe
There is nobody else.
You are just something
That is here to be used.
If he badly wants to do it
He is allowed to abuse.

After all, sun and moon
Revolve, rise and set on him.
In his solar system one star shines
Everything else is very dim.
Since he is rich, and can afford it
He keeps paid companions close.
He can stand free thinkers
Only by the miniature dose.

Everything he says
Comes out backward.
Nothing about him
Is really straightforward.
It’s like he came here
From Bizarro World.
Both of the forks
Of his tongue are curled.

He makes our lives
Like a lower rank of hell.
You won’t want to buy
A single thing he sells.
You can figure out
This reptilian guy
Just expect everything
He says to be a lie.

If he says it’s a nice day
Run for your umbrella.
At all possible costs
You should avoid this fella.
And if you know someone
Who tells you he is nice
Run as fast as you can
From them, take my advice.

He has never been honest
He has never even tried.
You’ll quickly lose count
Of the times he has lied.
If you think for a second
That he cares about you
Believe me when I say
It just cannot be true.

Because the only person
This guy loves is himself
And he doesn’t give a ****
About anybody else.
Not his family, nor his wife
Please be a believer.
In truth, he doesn’t really
Love himself either.

His whole world is backward,
What he hates describes him.
He tells about how he is
So handsome and slim.
But actually he’s a tub of lard
And socially quite awkward.
But he doesn’t realize it.
He is, after all, himself:
Mister Backward.

You took my heart
And gave yours away
To someone you trust
But,
He's playing with it
You don't even know
One day, he'll tear it
Without any mercy
And the blood will shed
So,
Take back what you gave
What you could loose
And give it to me
I'll keep it golden safe

All the words you say should be listed as a crime
You can't seem to think and talk at the same time.
You babble like a brook after a horrendous flood
And look like an aging cow chewing her cud.
Somebody should have slapped a muzzle on you
Slapped your big **** a time or two.
If lying cost you money, it would be a great joke.
We'd all feel better and you would be broke.

You're a big fat liar,
Seldom speak the truth!
You're a total spoiled brat
Have been  since your youth.
You've got a lousy rememberer
But a very strong forgetter.
You will always tell the lie
When the truth might fit you better.

If words made things happen
You might have a chance to be
The big shot you think you are
Instead of the reality.
You're a tinhorn snakeoil salesman
Like they had in olden days.
You long ago discovered that
Lying far too often pays.

You owe all your successes
To the fact that people trust.
They see a man in a costly suit
And they let him go for bust.
But, bust almost always
Means for anyone but you.
You only ever make a dime
If too many of us are coocoo.

You're a big fat liar,
Seldom speak the truth!
You're a total spoiled brat
Have been  since your youth.
You've got a lousy rememberer
But a very strong forgetter.
You will always tell the lie
When the truth might fit you better.

On her warm lap the cat sits
smugly without any fuss,
yet she could sense it's little secret
well concealed,  just to please her;
the expression of happiness
on it's face is a mere make -believe.
It's fluorescent eyes involuntarily dart
to the cozy corner that beacons it.
To the moonlit end of the courtyard
where her husband sits lost to the world.

She feels cheated yet again.

It's nothing*
        You say
As he passionately holds you close.

i know what hanging on looks like
avoiding red flags so large they could blur your vision blind

i wonder if people were as uncomfortable as i am right now knowing you're holding onto something fictional

and she's burning a **** hole through my skull with the glare she's shooting at me sharing innocent eye contact with him; I'm the last girl she actually should be worrying about- but i've been there, territorial when you start to catch on that the ground beneath you is falling right under your feet

i'm so sorry
i wouldn't wish that feeling upon my worst enemy;
realizing what gave you joy was never even real

There was an orange caveman
Who made himself a fancy home.
It was as glitzy as he could make it
Using gold and fancy stones.
He had enough wealth to
Employ many starving slaves.
He fed them as seldom as he could
**** near from womb to grave.

When he took folks to the top
Of his ostentatious dwelling,
You could swear within minutes
You could hear his ego swelling.
He had the softest of couches
And lookouts over the land.
He did his level best to be sure
His caveman home was grand.

His slaves would prepare for him
The most lavish of repasts
And guests were encouraged
To dig in as long as it lasts.
But at end of day all must
Get the hell out of there.
He always had a new young wife
And he didn't like to share.

But, somewhere along the tour
He would keep some internal pledge
And take you up to the top
And point out a jutting ledge.
He would comment on it's proximity
To his bed for the middle of the night.
He explained it was his privy
Quite handy from this lofty height.

He said only whites could use it,
He was quite stubborn about that.
Because the good people in life
Must be careful where they sat.
But he laughed at those below
And made no attempt to hedge.
He enjoyed the idea of their fate
And what comes from the white privy ledge.