Lies

What’s this warm breeze?
The wind that chilled me to the bones, the wind that held even the warmest of souls;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your whimsical lies;
What’s the warm breeze?
The wind that melts even my bones, the wind that frees all those souls;
Is it now pushing me towards the edge of the magnificent volcanic valley;
Or it pulls me towards the core of your warm, yet, unrhythmic symphony, symphony of your
heart that was slit;
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your unsolicited rage;
Where it rests now?
The wind that chilled me to the bones, the wind that held even the warmest of souls;
Or is it a kindle that reignites the magma;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your tainted tricks;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your tongue, your tongue that
froze my juvenile lungs;
Where it rests now, the zest, the warmth of the air I breathe?
How do I breathe now?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your eyes, your eyes that see
past all my hidden sins;
How do I breathe now?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your nails, your nails that
scratch past my stainless soul;
Now, stained by the blunt serenity of a lost letter in the middle of an ocean, ocean as calm as
your lips, lips that deny the truth;
Amidst the ocean, where lies the tempest?
Gales of your laughter, the truth, where it lies?
Lies, can’t you give it all a rest?
How do I breathe now?
How do I breathe inside this draconic esophagus;
Is it down the alimentary canal, where I get digested? Will I be free? Free from the dragon’s
central nervous system, which pulls me out of the pathetic truth and feeds me to the insane lies;
Lies, lies of cynical pheromones, yet there lies the jingle, a single chime, chime of the larynx;
Sings, it sings the oeuvre of a world unknown, a world of flames, flames of a mystifying
rhythm in the otherwise unrhythmic lies;
As the rhythm of the wings, wings guiding the dragon across the frozen lake, enthralled
beneath it once, now moves past the mist, there flows a loo;
Doesn’t it all make sense?
The dragon, isn’t it her?
Or is it all lies again?
What’s this warm breeze?
The wind that chilled me to the bones, the wind that held even the warmest of souls;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your whimsical lies;
What’s the warm breeze?
The wind that melts even my bones, the wind that frees all those souls;
Is it now pushing me towards the edge of the magnificent volcanic valley;
Or it pulls me towards the core of your warm, yet, unrhythmic symphony, symphony of your
heart that was slit;
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your unsolicited rage;
Where it rests now?
The wind that chilled me to the bones, the wind that held even the warmest of souls;
Or is it a kindle that reignites the magma;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
Or has it frozen the magma of magmatic eruptions, the eruptions of all your tainted tricks;
Where it rests now?
The wind, does it even rest?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your tongue, your tongue that
froze my juvenile lungs;
Where it rests now, the zest, the warmth of the air I breathe?
How do I breathe now?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your eyes, your eyes that see
past all my hidden sins;
How do I breathe now?
The wind that makes you shiver, a shiver as sharp, as sharp as your nails, your nails that
scratch past my stainless soul;
Now, stained by the blunt serenity of a lost letter in the middle of an ocean, ocean as calm as
your lips, lips that deny the truth;
Amidst the ocean, where lies the tempest?
Gales of your laughter, the truth, where it lies?
Lies, can’t you give it all a rest?
How do I breathe now?
The truth, isn’t it me?
Me, who slayed the unrhythmic lies, me, who slit through the symphony of your heart;
Aren’t I your whimsical lies, your unsolicited rage, your tainted tricks;
Your tongue, your eyes, your nails, your lips;
Lies, all your lies, is me, who devours the draconic central nervous system;
Truth, isn’t it you, you, who slits my heart open, are you not the one who brings rhythm to the
otherwise unrhythmic flow to the frozen lake;
Now, not frozen, now, the magnificent volcanic valley, now, magma of magmatic eruptions,
the eruptions of all your truth;
Yet, yet, why is it all a lie to me?
For here I stand with my wings stretched past the crimson horizon, amidst the mist, amidst
the shivering cold that chills me to the bones;
Yet, yet, what’s this warm breeze?
The wind that that melts even my bones, the wind that frees all those souls;
Aren’t them all me, aren’t you me?
I understand now, as I stand here, as I slit my own throat, now, I see the lies again, pulsating
symphony of your heart, my heart;
For the truth is me, me, when I lie.