The Hours Moved. The Minutes Came. The Seconds Passed Away.

Our breath is being held.

Honesty is like fresh air to our lungs.

We spend our time burning.

We'd rather burn.

Our lies build us castles,

Nicely adorned with moats.

Cold stone floors,

Cold stoned windowless windows.

We are the damsel in distress,

And dragons rush to enslave us,

Keeping us where we are,

Scorching us with their breathed fire.

We long to hold the fire,

So we hold our breath

We hold dishonesty a close friend.

As long as we believe the lies,

We can still be the victims

Claiming pity

Claiming attention until we've had enough,

When the real aches of us are probably more serious still,

Pathological Liars

To play our own games because it started out as a game,

This life, this fire-playing.

We'd rather burn.

So well held is the fire, we can breathe it,

Even though we don't know what breathing is,

Yet, as we lie her breathless,

We realize, to play with fire, we need oxygen,

But that doesn't work when we stop breathing,

And the blue face worn,

Is shock and disbelief,

The victim is down

The selfish victim is down

And no one was there to hear the final cry

Because there was no crying.

No crying and crying out, as there was no breath left.

The fire burned.

We all know fire absorbs sound.

And leaves a forest, fired to the ground,

And nothing remains.

Anything within miles was consumed by the overwhelming blaze.