It's been a year since I last looked into the mouth of the lion.
His writhing tongue was as a carpet, thick,
red and moist, a shag flooded with saliva.
His teeth were sharper, pointed, more than I expected,
and with his breathing blew me back into the fray.

I expected, what? I'll never know.
I feared he would not let me leave,
and now I understand...
It makes me scream, but I understand...

I've never been anywhere but in my room.
I've never seen anything but in my head.
I've never loved, but loving shadows.

And why?
Because the lion lied.