The March of a Liar

To strip you bare

One would know a wind up toy

A soldier, a bastard, hollow;

Without joy. Your skin ripped off

Like a present on Christmas,

To find underneath a morbid

Existence. Thriving as

Anaerobic organisms do,

Stinking in the depths

Away from humanity,

Boiling themselves for

The fun of it are little

Blond yous

With veiny foreheads,

Screaming and

Laughing at each other’s

Destruction. The gateway to

Hell, the smell of

Flesh and blood churning.

Bound even lower to the pit

And the bones are burning.

Charred and scattered

Are the things that let you march

Your spine has been eaten, gnawed

Down to chalk. Dust floats around

In the space by your heart, being

Plucked one by one from the

gap until there is nothing.

Like stealing a birthday,

The friends and the food,

You shrink even smaller

Inside what the naïve call a mood.

A liar’s death will be

Your demise, you will

Meet the true demons

At the end of your time.

Your eyes will stop seeing,

For none can see inside,

It has been your goal

To conceal and hide.

No longer can you lie,

No longer will you run,

They will ALL get you,

One. At. A. Time.

A lie is a judgement

Made unto yourself.

A mask is a shadow

Cast onto the shelf.

March as you may,

But do not expect a return

For the life you expel

Won’t be the one that you earn.