Fine Lies.
There is a corner of my mind I avoid, The one where all the stale promises hide. And no, they don't smell like good times, Or sunny days and rainbows Rather, they carry the scent of lusty time. ( Time, which hovers around our tender promises, like a venomous double-edged sword Time, the one we blame for every descent. Ha! Our ascents? of course, they're ours to devour! Why should time take credit for such mean feats? ) Anyway, let's go back. Now, what shallow beings are we, That we make such delicate promises, Fully aware, that they will be tucked away, rather noiselessly, without much commotion, into that corner. Stacked into those large cupboards, where you keep all your unfulfilled promises and embarrassments, adorned with finery, as though they're something to be proud of. How naively do we make those promises : " oh, I promise!" you say, as your head jerks backwards and your face lightens up with a laugh A la...