The Telling Truth
The Telling Truth pain stories
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fallenshadow
fallenshadow 19| Average writer dude,
Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
To tell the truth, I don't know who I truly am, nor do I like myself.

The Telling Truth

I'm beginning to doubt myself, my sanity's seams seem to split and shatter like a bottle fallen from a shelf.

Love is as foriegn as it could be, especially when we're talking about a man like me.

Perhaps I have loved, perhaps I have possessed, perhaps I have had my feelings burst from my chest.

And now as I write this, I realize that I have almost nobody left.

My fair weather friends have deserted me, and I have all but a few who remain. But even now I drive them out and try to get them on the leaving me train.

I've had my share of heartache, the silence between I and the woman I know can't love me is deafening to my ears.

But I cannot let anyone else cater to my fears. I must drive them all out and start anew again.

I need a clean slate, a blank page to pen down my story from then.

I can drive them all out, leave myself alone and in need, but isolation can only help me plant the seed.

The seed of my world tree, upon which my future depends, and to finally plant it, I need this to all end.

My Yggdrasil, my Ouroboros, my means to my end. To start over and cleanse my world of my friends.

I need to find myself, and my eventual end.

I crave to leave behind this beast I have made. But I am he and He is I.

The silver tongued liar, the man whom shares no real love. The man who will share his bed with anyone if it meant for one night to fill the hollow crater inside.

I am he, and he is I. For there are two sides to me and I'm not quite sure so I always ask, which one am I?

Am I the boy now man who likes to say I love you in the silence between breaths? Am I really him? Can I get this pain off my chest?

Or am I the heartbreaker? The man with honey words and twisted lies? The man who spills his venom so nobody can see through his guise?

I know not how to balance the trickster and the sincere man, but it's also something nobody can teach me, something only I can.

So perhaps I am a monster, better off alone and in pain, or perhaps I am the loving writer with many words to say.

Or perhaps somewhere in between, where the blurred lines turn the world so gray.

The truth is telling now that I really cannot say. Am I man or monster? I will not find out today or tomorrow, perhaps ever in this life.

But I can say with only sincerity that nobody else deserves this strife. So to the world that I am purging...

Please, turn unto me your knife. For in the end, I truly need to cease and end this life.

To shatter who I am, free the truth within, and if the future holds a place for me? Perhaps I can really breathe again.

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