truth is never really comforting. you want it, don't you? don't be silly everybody does. you crave it, right.. you think your strong enough to take it, handle it even.. but it's not fragile nor sharp. the truth, it doesn't care as much as you care about it. it's this love hate relationship waiting, just waiting ever so slightly like a glass of wine cheering you on to sip your way into intoxication, a coma of truth. truth can easily bring a smile to your lips and a tear to your eyes, it can punch you just has lightly as it can caress you. truth can't take care of you, it can wreck you up. like an alley fight it's waiting for you under the street light, truth.. well it begs you to believe it so it can laugh in your face just how pathetic you look for dropping to your knees, to cradle truth in your eyes, a constant tug-a-war with yourself and the fluff, that is truth. truth, it loves to hate you. and you hate to love it because you know it probably won't do you any good, but hey.. that's truth for you right. the dealer doesn't deal you a hand and then hope for you to get the truth, he's going to win just has you might get lucky. strike out the truth and open your eyes, unfold your belongings and hope that truth doesn't catch you waiting for it.. it knows you better than you know yourself. truth is, is there such a thing, or is truth just this made up fantasy that this delicate flower that grows from all the lies and sprouts a fabulous flower of truth, i doubt it. i mean truth is like a balloon, a balloon filled with paint just waiting to burst along your horizon.
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