He says the pain is a pond.
I say yes, the pain is a pond.
because the pain riddled by fish
lying in a basin and smells like rotten.
he says, and guilt is a pond.
I say yes, the blame too pond.
Because in a recess blame sloshing
and despite the outstretched arm
I get the armpit already twisted.
he says, lying is a pond.
I say yes, she also lies pond.
because in the summer, night
on the banks of lies you can have a picnic
and there always something you forget.