The Queen of the Lies

conceived with lies,
and raised on promises,
and yet you wonder
why sunlight hurts your eyes;

close shutters and doors,
spackle cracks far and wide:
yet your broom misses floors
that your dirt cannot hide;

you don't need me, baby,
for more than a prop,
in a portrait so hazy,
that your charade will not stop;

all the dreaming, just
petrified scheming:
a bucket of flies for
The Queen of the Lies.

February 14, 2009.

Copyright ♥ 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights and hearts reserved.

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