Swagazine #4

Last Lie by Jim Andrew Clark

it is hard to say when the lie brings in the new day
when a little bit is too much and still not enough
and worse than nothing at all
when a mirror of distant voices and a blend of agonies
steal the truth from my breast and lie all the same, in time
it is hard to say where the line is drawn in the tall grass
when all I hear is the clicking of her falsetto heels
strumming the rhythm in a song of goodbyes,
click - click - click
it is all I can do to remain in an errand of mysterious smiles
when the grin is a lie, and the new day never comes
it is hard to say when empathy becomes mercy
and mercy grows numb
when there are no limits in a confinement of faint memories
that stroll through the grainy photograph of my sleepless nights
when dry heaves and an angry, bitter moon
are all that accompany me as she melts away
it is hard to say what images are painted between the black and the white
when all I read is the fiction written by an angry moment in time
for a dawn that promises never to come, and pays no attention to my lies
it is hard to say how the next act will play
when my voice is lost in feverish gasps of midnight air
that swallow the lie into a radiant dream of paralyzed goodbyes
it is hard to say what will become of this.
it is hard to say anything at all.