The Fabric of Stories

We tell ourselves stories in order to live,

Threads of lies and truths, our fragile skein.

A labyrinth of whispers we will forgive,

Spinning shadows to soothe our hidden pain.

In mirrors of memory, ghosts reside,

Veiled in myths that shape our haunted minds.

We weave illusions where our fears confide,

Tangled tales in which solace often binds.

Beneath the surface of our crafted lore,

A silent scream, the heart's unspoken plea.

We build our worlds to mask what we abhor,

To shelter wounds unseen, so none may see.

Yet in this tapestry of hope and dread,

We breathe, survive, on stories gently fed.