The Liar Poem by Matt Mullins

The sick tongue of your
emotion’s way flicks against
the taut flesh of lover-ghosts
and could-have-beens.

So afraid of self-betrayal
consequence and mislaid plans
how much longer can you go on
watching yourself slowly skinning

such a beautiful living thing as love?
Peeling the good, red flower
of flesh back, causing the bony
maw where there was only

once her honestly offered kiss.

God knows it’s getting to you:

Those facial ticks and so much doubt
These arguments toward nothing.
The rattlesnakes of lightening
curled at the edges of her mouth.

And you, the one who set them there
even as they befriended her.
Knowing so little of your own soul
this was your life’s

one true conscious sin:
Even as you speak these words
it’s impossible
for you to mean them.