Telling Stories

I’m full of stories and white lies and bullshit
I know how to make them all believe it
There are many days without light or purpose
Plenty of sins laced in the darkness
Clocks tick and tock like a heartbeat and a half
Mine plus the part of yours that looks back
A sword and a shield, but which one stayed
Your happy ending hurt you and I got played
But I can’t help thinking we were such a great pair
Now we’re just poetry spoken in stale attic air
Poetry of truths with a little too much slack
Concrete falsities to fill in the cracks
Soaked in bourbon and rolled through the ashes
Kept in a lockbox with my last book of matches

To the untrained eye or unfamiliar heart
Hell, to anyone who’s never bent backwards so far
I surely went crazy, like I lost my damn mind
Well no shit, Sherlock – do I look like I’m fine?
I was battered and broken and left to mend myself
But all I’ve got is whiskey, and whiskey don’t help
The lies coat the wounds, stories bring you back
So I can drown in memories of the good times we had
I swim in the sins of the night we connected
Revel in the regrets you’ve resurrected
I sew together pages with blood on my hands
Lie to the people and tell them we danced
And they smile sad smiles for that girl and that boy
Beg for more, they pray for a happy story
But to you, I’m nothing but a veteran runaway culprit.
Full of half truths, heartache, and bullshit.

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