The lies slip soft from your tongue,
like dribble, like when you doze
with your mouth dropping open.
They pool on a sofa cushion.
Harmless, a little silly and sweet.
“Oh bless, Let’s let him nap.”
It should be different. The lies,
sliming and sliding from your mouth:
they should hurt, cause you pain.
A Pinocchio nose for the modern man.
Your tongue should swell, bulbous
and throbbing, with the poison it slops.
Your saliva curdle acidic, metallic,
so your teeth rot brown and spongy
and your gums recoil in disgust.
Your lips should blister and crack,
a bloody frame, shrinking back,
from the corrosive foulness within.
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
Your stomach should roil, up-gorging
uncontainable gases, oily bile to choke
your spasming throat and, even when
you sweat and gulp to swallow it down,
like a good boy, like Mummy taught you.
that churning mouthful of vomit
should leave your breath
sour and rancid.
That way we would know.
I wrote the original draft of this three or four years ago… Given it a bit of nip and tuck!