He’s a Liar

He’s a liar.

 

Falsity drips out of his mouth

Slowly, its thick juice

Running down his chin.

 

A sickly sweet aftertaste remains

 

So he continues to lap up every last drop.

The sweetness once again melts away

All his troubling thoughts

 

Like a damned drug.

 

“Forbidden fruit is wrong to bite” I say

He says “how can it be”

When the fruity taste of falsity

 

Will always set him free?

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