How many of our memories are unfettered
With authenticity, and how many have become
Distorted by time, suppressed and rewritten?
To speak truth is a liberating ordeal, but what if
One can no longer remember their truth? Or, out
Of self-preservation, have erased it completely?
Our stories are dynamic and ever-changing, as we
Ourselves, change with them, morphing into entities
Far different than when we first entered the world.
We write history through the lens of unfaltering
Honesty, yet the vicars still win in the end, a
Fantastical tale held together by ink and paper.
We cling to lies and all their false comforts, because
They offer us absolution, a gentle end to a painful
Chapter that would have otherwise destroyed us.
We choose fiction unknowingly, never understanding
The truth we keep hidden in our hearts, the desires
And dreams we deny, that we starve into oblivion.