by Author Name Withheld 201

Created on: February 22, 2011

WHITE LIES

She gazed beyond him with pale and lacklustre eyes as though he wasn’t there
He shone his combat boots and betrayed a smile as he combed back his dyed blond hair
He’s not a fighter he’s a poser and what will kill him are his lies
His affections met with cold indifference, for she’ll know no sentiment when that white lie finally dies

What manner of creature is he, thought to be born of nobility and down from the purest bloodlines bred
With the soul of a wounded warrior and no compass or moral, he who only fought to keep his ego fed
Even when she gazed upon him she remained even unable to unravel the mysteries behind his solemn eyes
He spoke of modern might and glory, but then confided that he wished he’d perished in nineteen forty-five

Now he hides his face behind a plastic mask lest his blood stained eyes or hollow soul become exposed
His flesh the portrait of purity, although his mad obsessions would have crushed her essence like a wilted rose
Knowing he would die upon the morrow, at long last he gazed upon the porcelain flesh which he so cherished
Romancing his own destruction, he resolved the world would not live to let the beauty of the aryan woman perish

It’s so much easier to stare down Heaven as a martyr, the worn battlefield on which he waits and bleeds
Suicide a feigned excuse to die for a cause and be marked as a god, perversions thoughts to feed his vanity
His last thoughts are just the ghosts of memories, he whispers aloud that she made the sun rise in his soul
But with blood spilled in ruin of the surreptitious death he willed, he dies alone and cold

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