The Game Of A Serial Liar. You had a bad habit of lying, A sweet past time which possessed your voice, Infected my heart and shook my faith, I would be lying if I said you didn't have a talent. I had this recurring thought, I imagine you frowning with no lips, Your ruthlessness and deceit rotted them to death, Like maggots eating away at a hide, The lies tore away at the purest pinks, My favourite place to share a kiss, These places used to expose your sweetest words, They translated into beauty and love, Wrapping my hands around the word trust, There’s an absence of that word now. Confident expectation of something; hope, There is no hope, only hurt, disappointment, Not much love, Yet you crave my trust, and blame your poisonous lies, On my imagination and assumptions. I shouldn’t rely on a man with decaying lips, His kisses are bitter and taste like the unfaithful bile that spills, Evidence of bloody words, a trail of my disappointment, And my tears that you begrudge each time my heart dehydrates, No love. I don’t rely on you, not that it matters to you, It’s not important really, Just me and my hopes for love, comfort, I’ll let you return to your games, holding me like a hair to a matchstick, I hope you score fewer points this time.