Lying about Lying about Lying about Lying

I lie on the marble floor, thinking about words and what to do if they decide to haunt me in my sleep. What to do if what I hold inside suddenly decides to speak to me.

That all I am, all I ever smile about, and all I ever cringe at, becomes the many shells of which I become a shroud.

And then I think of chameleons. I think of it changing colour. I think of how people think they do it to adapt to their surroundings, when half of the time, it's merely a reflection of how they feel.

They're not teenagers trying to be part of the cool clique. They are reptilian beacons.

They're the guys who can't hide their "happy"

And the fair who can't hide their cheeks when it's coloured cherry.

You are...

Your sense of humour,
The reason why morning is a misnomer.

How can I possibly be mourning this morning,
When jokes about calamities,
And laughs about atrocities ,
Make me giggle when I'm yawning.

Because I just woke up.

Not because you're...

Boring into my soul, like a piledriver,
That British singers croon about,

When they're not singing about sleepy towns,
Or whores,
Or when attractive mothers of which you have an affection,
An American exception.

When vampires go out on a weekend,
And colloquial slur becomes the new trend,
A colloquial slur that makes things clurr, (I mean, clearer)
A colloquial slur I've never said before in ways sincerer ,
Before I...

Met you, I haven't even,

Confined by walls that call us heathen,

"Do you wanna go to hell?", they enquire,
And you mock them with your love of fire.

Lie. Coz that's what the word sounds like if your name was abbreviated. Simplified.
Some are pronounced "Lee", Unfortunately.

They call it a suffix
The suffix in Helplessly, Hopelessly, Inevitably, Early, Daily, Nightly, Sweetly, Madly, Hilariously,
But I don't want you to be put Simply,
Really.

I want your many skins. And no that wasn't a fat joke stint.

I wanna be..

The company in your sleepwalking dreams, the antiseptic to the cuts you wake up to on your skin.

I'll hurt you too, there's no doubt,
But only like the occasional cigarettes that you'll eventually put out.

I want the space-time fabric your atom leaves as time in letters and sentences passes.
Past tense, present tense, future tense, mildly tense, intense, pretence, sometimes not tense at all.
Your Aderall, your thoughts like trippy coloured bubbles in a painting, possibly by Chagall.

I wanna hold your hand better than any 60's hit,
I wanna make the cogs in your heart spin a thousand revolutions per minute,

Like how much I think about revolutions per minute,

Like the thrill of kleptomania in a small homeless street kid,
The way a toxic mind doesn't quit,
The way you make me smile like you did.

This is probably not R & B at its best,
A very Jewish attempt at being Mr. West.

Or maybe just to be your glasses,
And to be the lens you talk about when you're in your classes.

Coz then I'd be with you,

And literally,

Everything else will just be scenery.