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.

 

 

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