Too Many Lies
Lies, Lies—–will it ever end?
You keep telling lies. Why pretend?
You lie about this and lie about that.
How can you lie about being fat?
You can’t seem to tell truth from error.
You say you’re here, when you’re really there.
But, you can’t hide your lying eyes.
You couldn’t, even if you tried.
There seems to be no truth in you.
It is all lies, no matter what you do.
You lie so much, as you try to explain.
It is enough to drive a man insane.
You’re world is distorted by all the lies.
It is not real. All made up of alibis.
It is a fantasy world where only you exist.
I have had about all I can take of this.
I am leaving. You call it a lie.
You don’t even start to cry.
In your world, this wouldn’t happen.
If it did, you’d feel like crap then.
You can’t even be truthful with yourself.
If you could, you would seek some help.
In your world, if it doesn’t work.
You make up a lie to fix the quirk.
If I could see inside your core,
I would find a shop of horrors.
Totally fictional existence.
Nothing concrete , just pretence.
You’re hanging on to reality by a narrow thread.
That thread may snap and you’ll lose your head.
There is little help for that, though you’ll be free.
No more pressures or stress.—– Just fantasy.
Wake up and smell the roses.
Yes, they are real. So is psychosis.
You are skating on the lunatic fringe.
One little slip and it is the end.
———————————R. W. Johnson—–(2016)