Liar

The truth of the matter is... I am a liar. But believe this lie... this once...it's the truth. :-)



My stronghold is, and has always been...



Lust.



It is undiluted and unmistakeable; my appetite for things I have no earthly- nor heavenly buisness, wishing for.



It can, and has... derailed me, taken precedence over ambition, growth... and even my own sanity at times.



It manifests in all forms, but this time it came... in the form of a boy.

He is nothing like the Prototype.



I was broken when we met,...and I believe...so was he.



Together, we hot-welded the peices together in an unnatural way. Now my heart is abstract, and freakish to look at. He says it's art, that I'm a Masterpeice.



I don't believe him, but I like the way he spins the truth....



I think he's beautiful. He reads my soul and tells me where it hurts, and how it got that way.



He mocks the conformity of my religious fervor, while I revel in the contradictions of his consciousness. He is a wordsmith; he threads in deeper water than I swim in. My wit counters his cunningness ...and no one wins in our fights.



We are lovers and dreamers, and when our spirits play...it is the only time they play fair.



It's the only time I believe him...



He sees, maybe too well, my higher, and my lower self; he maps out where they collide. He hears my insecurites... and when I push hard enough...he bites back with my innermost secrets...



I can see him too, in a way that tortures both of us. Sometimes, I think it's worse... when you can see the truth.

It makes love... harder.



Lust is much easier to identify. When he is lying to me, I know it with a scientific certainty. He may as well be hooked up to a machine.



I am him...and he is me, perfect 360 degrees of One.



The problem is... I never really liked Me... all that much.



When he lies to me, I choose to believe him, because I want more than anything...to believe myself.



Which makes me...



a habitual liar.