(lies to tell yourself when you are sad or happy or drunk or sober or woke or dreaming)

they love you
no one loves you

you love yourself

love exists, but only in
inhuman things,

a tree or the sea sexed in sun or moonlight
a pup’s tongue,
a spider’s precise,
skinny, scattering sprint,
the sleep-waking space,
the blinking licks,
the dusky/dawny/drunk/druggy in-betweens

on the ledge, on the edge,
still sprung.

how we both always know:

you saw my status
i saw your status
you saw my text
i saw your text
you saw my tag
i saw your tag
you tweet
i tweet
you saw my retweet
my snap, my IG

you saw, i saw, you saw my saw,
i saw you saw my saw, until finally,
one of us saw a saw seen more than the last saw,
so the lies i tell myself when i am see-sawing?

life is a mirror, like the tree, like the sea
like you see and i see but we are flicking,
fading, stunk-dead bugs, so what do we do
slipping into seas and trees,
still hitting refresh, refresh, refresh?



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© 2018 Monica Lewis