Another time,

another day,

the older way,

always sitting on the nightstand,

just waiting,

the ebony powder feeling abandoned,

feeling the way I was feeling,

staring and sitting beside me,

and one swipe,

one high,

the old way,

the way I used to want it.

The white lies

control my mind,

misconstude the reality of life.

I understand the meaningless thoughts

that spew out my mouth are hurtfull,

pointless,

stupid,

but they are relentless,

never ending,

playing over and over

a broken record of distorted realism.

white lies create white tears,

ebony tears,

tears that are as pointless as the lies themselves,

as fake as the lies themselves,

but I still cry,

and continue to lie,

the target of these lies?

A heart,

my heart,

convience yourself to believe,

this distorted realism is so much grander

than the life I used to live.