Saturday, March 7, 2015


When he lies, he lies
He is genuine, a novel
A charmer, a spell;
But when he lies, he lies

He means no harm
Yet, a weapon he is-
Things he says;
Issues he solves;
Beauties he sees;
He kills

And when he lies, he lies

He smells like a gin;
A chocolate with pure round brown eyes;
Curly dark, soft hairs
He lies, still

Walking like a set of winning gloves,
He cries for intimacy;
He begs for the touch, for his muse
Perceiving the impossible, he never misses
Lies, all lies he says

Speaks courteous, smoothly denying
He never fails –
Surrounding is tricked, manipulative
He opens, liberating everyone to believe

But I always know, he lies

Why he must lie?

-Amelia Winnie
Jakarta, March 7

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