The biggest liar was he who told you you were unique. Painting a landscape, you two went gallivanting across the hills dreaming that, somehow, while you were perfectly separate and enthralling you were also somehow the same, somehow joined but forever apart and thus your own creature, your own being.
The biggest liar was he who told you you were unique. Feeding a story, you two went twirling across sentences singing that, somehow, while you were perfectly awake and enthralled you were also somehow full of dreams, somehow joined to forever through your skulls and thus your own vector, your own impetus.
But by far the biggest liar was me when I told you you were anything. Striving for an alternative, we two went spiraling down thought-paths crying that, somehow, while we were silently weeping and in pain we were also somehow new and truthful, somehow unchained from forever in our wrists and thus our own styluses, our own narrators.Back to Poems