She smiles at him, quicly batting her eyelashes. She knows stuff, but she doesn’t say a word, and why should she? Life is ok just the way it is, there’s no need in tearing up the balance. Or whatever that is.
Yes, you use old words, my friend. Your smiles are not honest, neither are mine. Time passes us both by, so I have no reason to be in a hurry.
He laughs sometimes, probably thinking he has it all planned. Thoughts of the deceit and thoughts of the lie, they are all inside his petty little brain. He thinks he’s above it all, and this war is over, because he already won it.
I keep saying the same sounds, but they don’t make sense anymore. It is just an old story, retold with synonyms. But who cares about that, when the definition was already drawn? Sounds are just a way to keep sadness away. Lies are pretty.
There is no left, no right, no sound.
All that it’s left is pain to put me in the ground.