[untitled]

Deceit is in your eyes,

or rather your photograph

burning at the touch

scorching my ears

and slicing through my heart like warm butter.

 

What is this vice grip on my chest?

Recognition is past the point of my understanding

because your pixelated repulsiveness

digs deep beneath my bones

and retires under the comfort of my blood.

 

There it sleeps while I toss in my slumber,

while the cold sweat sets my face ablaze

as I awake from yet another nightmare of your cruel, detestable face.

 

 

The night owl is on the prowl

and you are but a mouse.

 

Deception is what falls out of your lips,

and deception is what feeds your false personality.

Start running now,

O deceitful one,

for the owl in all its wisdom,

will devour you whole.

Author's Note

Obscure Obscure Obscure.? is it too obscure? I think I like it this way. Written about someone I should have known, but it comes to find out that I only knew what this person put out to me, and that was a lie.