May I lie to you?
I promise to do it sweetly
and completely.
You will not feel a thing,
not really, never really.
Soft-spoken hateful lies
only raise hair across the nape.
Polite lies do not become the farce
of a carnival barker red in the face
who raises bile and never smiles
except in that smug way.
My smug smile lies in wait
only to be seen behind the screen
of my politeness and grace.
The need to shower away filth
subsides as one leans forward
to catch the whispered slide
of my quiet lies across the skin.
Lying to win is not a sin.
I lie so well.
No one can tell.
and so, I softly and secretly smile
with serious gaze all the while.
It is ridiculous
how insidious
polite lies swell.
Can you tell?
annarino writes 