Truth is I want to trust you but I can’t trust me. The lies I tell undress the same things I bless. I fuss at you because I can no longer hide the lies. I undress.
The stress I put upon you places you on a pedestal for the world to view. Behind you I’m ahead of me because I put all my trust in you who can fail.
I can’t hail you commander and chief when I can’t command my sail. My thoughts stray to those cats that always meow to tell my truth.
If you picked up my book, took a keen eye to how I looked. The cover flow would read autobiography, but the pages would be fiction. I speak and talk in exquisite diction.
Inside I am a mess, pure fiction.
Truth is I can’t trust you because you don’t trust you. We have been lying for so long that we can’t see what’s right because we are living wrong.
I sing a sad song to get you to join in the pity party.
It makes me look like a hero while you look like a played pawn.
Being right allows me to prove you wrong. I can’t hold on to you with a false grip and slippery palms.
You’ve read my palm. You know my wrongs. I have the right to remain silent but I keep speaking to your emotions.
Why can’t I stop singing this sad song?
I can no longer play you with my truthful lie. I am so transparent it’s clear you got tired of reading autobiographical fiction. Until we trust love we will be without existence.