[i see the lies but still trip over them]

"Before I fall too deep."

Like it was an option,
something to mull over,
swish-swash
from side to side
of my pretty mouth
with its black jewels
click-clack-clacking
against far-from-white
and perfect pearls
...speaks too much
and speaks too little;
talks in rhymes and
talks to no one
with a vowel or
proper noun:
"Give me the name of
a man who doesn't
lie with perfect ease."
...so full of shit.
One hit wonder. Smack,
crack, pow... right at
my little blue eyes,
my pretty hues,
metal above the left
to remind me I
have strength for
needles and sore souls,
men who expect that
pretty and perfect
and prim and proper
are not an option--
are not a choice.
Mandatory like
monetary devices.

My pockets are shallow
(and empty at that).