The Boy who blocked his own shot.

Lies are sweeter than the truth. Sweet as candy that burns and decays below the surface. It doesn’t hurt when it’s sweet. It doesn’t hurt to believe, but it hurts when you leave and you watch everything burn into nothing. People love a hero. They love a captain that takes charge of the ship, even when you drift off course. Its the course that you stick with, the course that you lie with, the course that you can’t help but pretend doesn’t exist. Until everyone knows and you make villains out of saints because it’s what you know best. As far as everyone is concerned there is only one hero. Everyone else is just a storm of villains that drives the ship off its course.

Everyone knows better than everybody else. Everyone has something to say and yet it never truly matters anyway. Because truth will always become lies. Words will always get twisted and you only see what you want to believe. Sparing feelings is better than saying anything. Lies are easier to produce then being honest with the truth. How our lies intertwine into webs of uncertainty and everyone knows. When you make up things in your mind, that are fair greater than any honesty we could see. Honesty is a blunt cut, but we can’t help but dress it up with lies that soften the blow.

I become the villain, that always spoke too soon. I become the hatred, the darkness, the storm that turned to a hurricane. The hero just continues through the storm without a scratch, and I am still cleaning off the salt from my wounds. It only matters what the captain says that turns him into the hero. It only matters if the sun shines down on to the sea and clears the way.

It only matters what you tell everyone, to make yourself feel better. It only matters how much of the story is real, instead of the fabrication you want everyone to believe.

I still sleep soundly, I hope you do the same.



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