The Liar's Merry-Go-Round
On love and addiction...
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.