Stripping away onion skin slivers of my soul with every swipe
As I arbitrarily decide whether or not I want to
Fuck it, right, right, right,
Who even needs to look anymore?
The faces blend into one,
The monotonous poses
Juxtaposed and superimposed
Before the eyes of this impostor.
My tongue, tipped in silver but
Finished with tin,
Reeling off lie after cliched lie
From some unwritten manual of manipulation,
But you lap them all up because
You want to believe;
You’re as dead as me inside and you want to
Let yourself pretend that this is real.
A meeting under false pretenses,
We both surrender to our cognitive dissonance.
A chat, a drink, a desperate, joyless fuck
Where you try to convince yourself that
It feels good,
And I try to convince myself that I can
Feel any fucking thing at all.
So here we lie, monstrous in our deception;
Equal weight but a single target,
Yet victims both, another layer gone,
One step closer to the core,
One sliver closer to the end.
So we smile and part ways and suggest
Another meeting we both know is never going to happen
And we spend the night writhing in guilt and shame
And self-hatred and emptiness,
Before we reach for the cure.