Listening to a Liar

Don't play that melody, that brokenhearted fa re mi, that cool kind of lonely, that warm, empty comforting. You are a cadaver in my closet of tears nestling beneath my broken dreams, seeking their heat, singing their melodies the rhythmic crooning of years... You are shattering flightless aspirations that may have one day flown, festering the memories of yielded opportunities, mocking my life in once-open doors not fought for, but passively passed instead. You are in my head. You know I am weak; I want to believe. I yearn your kind of free, but look at me. Your kind of free is my slavery. And, as my breaths muddle under the thick, silky clay of your voice, the options all at once burden and relieve me - unexpectedly. There is no peace, only a deep sea of frivolity weighing on my heart trying to seize the best of me; I will remember my choice. I know. You think I am weak. You choose to believe that your elusive imagery is fooling me, but look at me. I am still breathing, still thinking... You know... Your grin is silly; your confidence: unswerving yet blatantly undeserving; your arrogance, the ammonia that abruptly awakens me from the dream that we have weaved. I knew that you were lying to me. It is all that you ever do. I know that you are lying to me. Your words are never true. Yet, we are lying in the same abandoned boat, the same dissolving bed, the same sinking ship, the same desolate consequence. The truth will surface. The truth will disregard your wired fences, your advanced weaponry, your savage beasts. The truth will protect me when your justice crumbles beneath the pressure of what you assume to be reality. The truth will be all that there is, all that is left, because it is all that ever was. The truth is all that will ever be. Don't smear your captives in blindness. Follow the truth. Set the listener free.