White lies on a white canvas turn it grey nonetheless.
They told me it was the path to true happiness.
Regally enjoying myself, against all ethics.
But aren’t those just children’s tactics?
I drift through the days, happy, more or less.
Yet I see the mind drawn dagger, Inverness.
Insanity is but a mile away.
Sway, like trees in the wind, sway!
I told you to come to bed quickly last night.
I told you to leave more quickly this morning, out of fright.
Particularities have me in a chokehold.
Passion, just kindled, already grows cold.
In vino veritas, you told me without much gravitas.
I listened, deaf, to words that gave me the coup de grâce.
So I cut the blooming flower simply for destruction’s sake.
Smiling at mine eating an apple from the tree, is a snake.
Such is the flora and fauna of my very own garden.
The only savior I can think of now is arson.