A little like poetry

Trompe L'oeil

You're the lie, that you tell yourself
late in the night
You're the rain, that's still falling
just before the sunrise
And when bodies melt,
like ours did
And faces, they fuzz
You're her truth,
oh that she believes
And yet she is your lie

We're the pieces, of a broken vase
too shattered to fix
We're the dogs, on the shortest leash
too far away for this
But when bodies melt,
and it's not ours
Memories, they blur
You're the truth
that she grips on to
And you believe in your lie

She's the rose, you fall back upon
thornless and pure
The antidote for sorrow,
might she be your cure
But when memory boxes come unlocked
and sand vials break
You're standing there, clothing her in shame
and you're the truth that she'll hate

For now bodies melt,
and it's not ours
In the dark it's not her.
And while you're her truth
She's fallen for you-
She's still your lie

(c) Charis Vera Ng
March 18th 2008