Back Alley Street

we have gone this far
and i know it bares no mark in your books
that i have scoffed my feet
and lied through my teeth for you,
but i have.

this is how I'd sell everything
and anything of me
to be walking next to you.
this is how I'd sell everything
and anything to write with you.

conceited.
ill.

your intentions surround a vast number of words
that scream vile, but i trust in those words
and in the person that easily lets go
of lies like strawberry on the shortcake.

do i save it for last? or do i eat if first?
i choke on it anyway, its acidic redness filling
my thirsty mouth and my hungry lips.

Misguided.
poor.

Yes, this is how I'd do things,
believe every bit of hiss that slips off your tongue.
This is how I'd do things,
believe you even if they promise to be lies.

Its all there is between us,
the lies that weave into dreams
of white picket fences and warm fires,
without them we would be but thrown out children
of the back alley streets.

Unwanted.
stray.


This is how we live,
how we bear our words and write our life.
For we are the back alley kids
of the rhythmic streets that endanger us
and glistens in the sparkles
of shape shifting sound sliding off
our sentimental tongues.

you have gone this far
and you know it bares no mark in my books
that you have scoffed your feet
and lied through your teeth,
but you have.