The Way He Lies

He says: “You’re beautiful”

And I smile.

He lies to me over and over again,

But I don’t mind anymore.

He’s the only person I know

Who lies just to make me smile.

 

He kisses my neck,

I let out a soft moan.

I know this is a lie,

Oh, but does it feel good.

 

We lay together on his bed,

Our hands being held,

Our souls being comforted.

Our lips being kissed.

 

He traces his fingers along my back,

Along my side,

Along my scars,

Along my pride.

 

I try not to cringe,

And I pretend there is nothing to hide.

“You’re amazing”

He lies.

 

A kiss on my shoulder,

Another on my chest,

My breast, my stomach

My skin a little too close to his.

 

“Soft…” he murmurs.

The way he touches me is tender

Almost dream-like.

Surreal.

 

He listens to my body,

Responds to my reactions.

He lies in the prettiest of ways,

He kills me with the softest of touch.

 

He traces my outline,

Almost as if to remember that I am real.

It assures me that I am not,

It reminds me that he is.

 

His eyes are kind,

Especially when he lies.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

I smile, amused.

 

I kiss him,

Fully aware of my hypocrisy.

“You’re cute,” I say,

Not a hint of honesty.

 

He tucks my hair behind my ear,

“I love you,” he says.

His eyes are kind,

And that’s how I know he’s lying.

 

I smile, and laugh

Kiss him senseless

I don’t want to answer

I simply enjoy this moment

 

The night is simple,

My conscience is clear.

For a night,

There was nothing to hide.

For a night,

I was sincere.

 

Honest hypocrisy is a peculiar thing,

But I enjoy his lies,

And he enjoys mine.

Reality is subjective, at best.

Our lies are truth,

At the very least,

In bed.

 

I gather my clothes,

Get dressed and ready.

It’s three in the morning,

He’s beautiful when resting.

 

Our lies lay with one another,

Intertwined,

I gather mine as I walk out the door.

A silent farewell,

As he lays, peaceful in his sleep

I smile,

“I love you, too”

This poem is about: 
Me

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