Barely A Lie

I fell into my falling Of whispers I could not hear As they spun into me unfelt For their innuendos In words unfound. Silently mistreated By these mouths pasted shut And I continued falling Into my apathy. I sang into my mourning. It was such a cheerful sound That hid itself Between lines on crumbled parchment Tossed into a corner Where I refused to stand In acceptance of contemplation Of these words left jumbled making Sense of everything. Sadly for those That would be left by me Cheerfully I could not halt my fell, Crushing porcelain dolls All dressed In fine lingerie. Sadly as I smiled I lit the piles Dressed casually in my corners And let the soft silk hauntings Burn Away from my fingers. Do you believe me as I write this? The lies I planted on my forehead Were in some sense But a matter of truth to yet Be defined Within their own Definitions. And the innuendos? Were but explanations As to why The heels were planted, Growing in my eyes, Suckling on esteem. Written February 9th, 2002 © on Feb 09 2002 10:30 AM PST, Brian Rosenberg   0 • 1