No I'm not full of lies.
I don't think we're full of anything,
not even blood or guts or love.
I listen to songs sometimes that
break out in a rash about the number of lies
that some lover told;
and how they seem to leak illness the way fries leak oil
But I guess numbers are hard to tell; and counting is really so absurd.
I'm an apprentice
and I know that I'm darker than anything I say.
I'm not evil, no. Just limp and sideways and sometimes empty:
so when I lie it is occasionally a way of finding a way
out and not saving my changes.