Scorches of betrayal at our hands, at our feet,
cleansing our impurity only serves the deceit.
Grasped by twisted vines of irony and decay,
we writhe within a spiral cloud of doom and dismay.
Trailing stems choke our reason and pierce our belief
with thorns of our own design and of our grief.
The velocity at which we defeat our desires
adds to the perpetuation of mythmakers and liars.
False tears go unheard and soon the dam breaks,
a lake of sorrow overflows exuding the fakes.