Our story; a collection of lies fastened together tightly.
Kept fast in leather binds. All we were was
deception and sex; you love the taste of girls -
but we had a good moment or two here and there.
They always said you'd spoil things because
cheaters don't change their spots – and yours
were black as dirt. You always said we failed
because I never believed; the only part of
believe you ever understood was the lie
and I never invited self-deceit, instead I
let myself drown in your sweat and breathy gasps
and dissolved into our moments, until we both became
just empty words, bound together in the covers of a diary.