they must, they must

On the mortician’s table
I lie, still
Putrefaction swills
In this vessel of victimhood
And the bile of my great deceits
Flows dry and bitter over my false tongue
Does this story make sense?
Could I keep it together?
Or will the bubbles travel up forever?
 
I stare at the face on my broken TV
But I only watch what I cannot see
 
Maybe not today
But one day coming 
It’ll come apart
And everyone will see that the tales I tell
Trick only ghosts
No one else will fall
For the traps I set
And I’d bet they’ll laugh about it
After they’ve laid my body bare
After they’ve cut out my heart
And left it somewhere
 
Will they sing sweet songs of our despair?
Or will I only ever listen to what I cannot hear?
 
Maybe I’m searching
For something to find
Or maybe the epithets scrawled
In the sword coming down on this hollow throat
Will be enough to sever me from what I never was
All the gold I’ve collected will turn to rust
Because I only love what I cannot trust
 
When this body dies, do my lies become dust?
I weep and whisper 
“They must, they must.”