The Liar's Merry-Go-Round

Again.

It's happening again.

She has left me.

But I am the one who is leaving.

A slow train ticket.

Hundreds of miles from home.

Two black bags, full of everything I own.

Nothing sentimental.

No pictures, or keepsakes.

I lied to her, I said I still loved her.

But, truthfully I don't really know what love is.

Is love when you come inside of a woman?

Is love when you feel her pulse and vibrate as she climaxes?

Is love when she looks at you, with sparkles in her eyes, her fingers intertwined with yours?

I have experienced all of these things.

But I do not know if this is love.

I know pain though.

Sadness and disappointment.

At myself, at the world, at my disease.

My mind that lies to me about an illness I know that I have.

A phenomenon of craving.

A Pringles can of alcohol and drugs, that once I pop, no matter how hard I try, I just cannot stop.

This lying merry-go-round.

This circus music, which plays dull and softly, as the slow train stops at another town no-ones ever heard of.

Hours and hours, and hundreds of miles from home.