stacks and piles of lies

i lied once to a woman and then kept on lying
after i started up another lie with a different woman
while i began lying to a woman i met at work
until my lies piled up like the empty bottles of
wine and guts of blunts
that were stacked next to my garbage can
as if i had no intent of ever throwing them away,
because if i threw one away, how would i
remember the story that accompanied each piece.

this type of lifestyle is only sustainable for a short
period of time, and that’s if you’re a really good liar
and lucky not to run into either a smart or a crazy woman.

i fucked up and lied to a smart woman, a crazy woman,
and turns out, i’m not a good liar; so my testicles turned
into a meal for the gator living in the lake next to my
apartment building and my clothes were burned,
car tires slashed, car exterior keyed, “randomly” drugged
tested by my employer based on an “anonymous” tip.
i’m became jobless, homeless, a beggar, unattractive,
and now i live a life of a monk, except, you know, without
the sweet title of monk. Fuck it; all of that pussy was worth it…
…if only i could masturbate to the memory; that would be helpful.

Published by

jonathandeanrichie

Currently living in Vietnam, teaching English, fixing the world's problems.

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