the liar

liar

cold water 

and snow soaking through your boots

the headache's answer was:

tired.

see i'm a terribly good one

who has been poorly existing for years -

what a wretched skill to live by

how ironic that you'd live by

it: you wanting sleep

and gripping tight onto your 

clacking shutters and 

midnight flutters -

and keeping them in your pockets

next to postcards and old gifts from friends

next to promises to make amends

next to broken music and sleeping pills

you like to lie you lie to kill

and walking down the frigid street

you bob your head to your heartbeat 

boom

ba-buhm

ba-buhm