Marry the Lie.
Let your left hand be synthetic.
Your cruel, empty heart is covered by a deceitful mask;
Your answer is worth spit when lovers ask.
This flask you carry, holds this loose liquid,
And each sip enables a vivid falsehood you spew so carelessly,
Yet carefully you craft them.
This polygamy you seek with seductive wives, each called Lie,
Is a vow waiting to be brought to spite.
Hmm...
A funny thing,
Your rusted ring--
What can't be seen is the truthful gleam.
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