The Liar's Blanket.

And the days always seem to be clouded by the worries.
Those ugly, fat thoughts that my brain kept producing.
It's repulsive, sadistic.

Where I lie down on my bed thinking of ways to keep amending.
The screwed up mistakes they both made in the first place.
I'm somehow, getting tired of chasing rainbows.
Only to find an empty pot, without a single ounce of gold.

Look how intricate the promises they have said and weaved, a long list of lies.
Like packets of cigarettes that promise the smoker to shoo shoo away one's worries.
Where in fact, it eats them up whole, leading oneself to a masochisticly slow suicide.

Oh look, the thread.