It's quite sad I guess-
How all their words sound like lies.
How the compliments seem to buzz and rise and irritate your skin,
Like the sight of too many ants in a confined area.
How the lies themselves sound like truth.
Because of course, the lies are what you believe.
The only truths you've ever known,
Are those from the lips of a stranger,
The kinds that seem to slur more after every sip and shot.
It's quite sad how the only truths you believe,
Are the ones whispered in your ear,
To the rhythm of too much alcohol and stale breaths
While of course, you're lying on your back.
May