None other than myself
None other than myself have I given to this decaying soul, a petrified body in itself.
A shame to mankind and all the people to be around of it. Still, truthfulness stays fading away from me, and all my mouth can spew are pitiful lies. My dear, I am sorry to not have opened up like the book you, and I have wished myself to be. All the pages filled with lies and regrets have corrupted the very pages of a seemingly empty book, standing upon one of the thousand shelves of life.
Still, I cannot be true to myself, others.
I’ve long forgotten what it means to say what’s on my mind. It seems to be empty as ever.
As I lay down, I keep myself awake with tons of questions, one of them being
If I was ever truthful to myself the very least.