the nature of a liar

Your games
      Sometimes its hard to draw
      the line between what Im pretending
      and what Im actively pursuing.
              [I know this much:
              you intrigue me.]
      But you're a figment
      of someone else's wild imagination,
      half of his true self and half mind-fuck
      that only traps me deeper
              [and I think hopelessly so]


and mine
      my words are chosen carefully
      so I could be
              any girl [at all].
      But my own eyes still study the days
      the way a very particular artist would: critical
      of the rusty air vents climbing monochrome
      brick that clashes with,
      what I think I can call
      a sapphire sky, [though it longs,
              as I do, to be Emerald.]