Liar’s Mind

Standing inside my center I see my tainted core, and through it I see myself, shattered forever more. The breaks are not apparent, and are nowhere close to clean, from what little I can see, nothing is what it seems.

Confusion is a constant, pain is just a blur, happiness a fleeting wish, something here only for me to miss. Standing here surrounded, by those I know and love, a smile for a second, before the sadness comes. From where it came it will return, only to be returned to me anew. This is the fear, the constant dread, the haze I live my every day in.

I see it clearly, but can’t stop, knowing makes it worse, as much as it makes me better, the doubt adds to the pain, believing one is real, another a lie, makes me wonder about how honest is my mind? How much to doubt, how much do I know, can I trust myself?

No, I don’t believe so. Inside my center once more, watching that tainted core, throwing off that poison, that sad fate, there’s nothing I can do, no acceptance nor reprieve, for none of that would last, not with in this wretched place.  So, with a smile upon my face, I hide it with in my false grace,  a liar’s mask for a lying mind, an actor in a play, simply reading lines.

I owe those I love more than that, but at this time it’s all I can grasp. A liar’s mind is my curse, my secret shame, even though it could hold my call to fame. I know it well this endless game, but I wish, just once I wish I was the same, that knew my thoughts were just my own, not part and parcel of some flaw, some illness, or wretched disease.

I wish I knew what calm felt like, or happiness without fear, I wonder often what it’s like to not be this anxious when others are near. To know and trust myself and my feeling, to wonder what it’s like to feel a thing for more than a seconds thought, to continue that strain, instead of having it overwritten, or washed away like it was some harsh stain. I wonder what that’s like, to have a core that isn’t strained, isn’t stained, isn’t cursed or tainted. To have one that might be dented, a little marred and slightly scarred but still pure, untainted, untouched by the illness of a liar’s mind. Oh, how I wish I could know that, for at least a time.

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