Page 32

An Eye for a Lie

I sat on a dead man’s couch

Feeling myself grow weary of this disgusting life

I write a song about death

Sing it like it’s sex

Unwarranted blood pools on the floor

I wait for the clean up crew

I spark a dead man’s joint

Turn on the T.V.

I am unconcerned with leaving evidence

No one is going to come looking for this one

I think back over the years

Cannot remember feeling anything

There must have been a time

I must have felt my descent

The first time I killed

There had to be emotion

Which emotions did I sense then

As a twelve-year-old

Plunging a knife through a man’s chest

I relive the act

Everything as vivid as it ever was

Not a single emotion is felt

I don’t believe it

A lie I told myself

I return to the dead man’s guitar

Sing my song about death

Think about what it could mean

Doorbell