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Truth?

When I think about her, I hurt inside, but I also realize, the pain is a lie, yes it will clean, but I can't hold it in fact, it's very unhealthy, to do something like that.

When I think about her, I hurt inside, but I also realize, the pain is a lie, yes it will clean, but I can't hold it in fact, it's very unhealthy, to do something like that.

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[–] • 1 pt

First things first, How do you feel?

[–] • 1 pt

Like a fraud. I didn't do opium. Sorry.

[–] • 1 pt

We are all frauds here.

We can't tell anymore lies, and we've expended all truth.

I keep on looking at myself, looking at the whiskey set next to my bedside table, and I wonder.

Should I smoke another cigarette?

Should I remember the times before?

Should I forget all that has passed and focus on a future not yet forgotten?

Fucking Hell is my own choice, the destiny I consign myself to.

[–] • 1 pt

I agree, we can burn in our lies, like metaphorical cigarettes.

We can lay awake, remembering, those that won't forget.

Song birds playing, a hymn while we feel rotten.

Everyone can see all these holes we haven't spotten.

"To be perfect!" Flowing through my feet.

Feeling and chasing that temptation, as if I had a choice.

"At last, I've got you! " I say while looking down.

To late for me to realize, that we are all just clowns.