By Gillian Lenore
Tell me a story.
I will operate under the pretense that everything will be false,
if your batteries still make you tick.
I walked, for a time, with my eyes closed.
I made up a thousand places to see,
and i never once felt lost.
does it even make you flinch to lie anymore?
I wish there were reasons sometimes,
not just a thousand lost gods from the machine.
I worked, for a time, as an escape artist.
I could open my eyes so wide they’d bleed, and still there was only darkness.
and I never felt so at home.
you know,
what’s most disgusting about the truth
is that I don’t even care anymore.
Facts or fictions,
they burn like small cuts all the same.
and I can paint over those scars.
but the truth is fleeting;
it might pulse through me briefly, just long enough to mean everything,
but a lie is always there.
Lies are swallowed desperately by those gasping for answers.
Constant inquiries desperately seeking response in any form
but people will believe what you tell them,
if it takes them out of their truth
even just for a moment, and in that moment maybe, they think, everything will be ok.
that’s what’s beautiful about a lie.
and sometimes vanity is enough.
And sometimes it’s worth drowning in
So, please, if I drown, let me sink,
Because I know if you were to rip me back from these waters,
You’d hold me down and
breathe another beautiful god damn lie into me,
because apparently nothing else matters.
Comments