I tried to find a path
through the forest of your lies,
but there were no tracks to guide me
past distortions,
truth-contortions,
tiny portions
of reality,
salted with fable dust.
My questions did not yield answers,
only fairy tales,
light as gas, like helium,
hydrogen,
oxygen,
making me giddy,
feeding the flames,
until the periodic table of untruth
fell apart
from lack of substance.
No bait from me could tempt you
to throw off your pale mask.
No words could reassure
that there is honor
among thieves.
And so I wandered
on the edge of sanity,
out-gambled,
out-classed,
a mere record for your files.
But in spite of the complex mess we made,
the pride and posturing,
the drawn knives,
in the dark,
carving each other up
with phony smiles,
still I wonder
late at night,
(and when the sun is high)
what little game it was we played,