Is life about telling the truth
Or finding it?
Or bending it
Or blending it with puffery
Indistinguishable from lies
Because lies fill the gap
Picture a glass filled with ice
It never really feels as full
Until you pour some malt
That metaphor is better
Than wound and salt
As aging with no need for the dramatiques
No need for the spotlight
No flair or pyrotechnics
Just a man told he was being set free
When in truth he was being let go
No leash or cages
Just wide open spaces
Free to go
And most times
I can’t complain
About fate
As it always seems
It’s my fault
I just wished the last memory of me with her
Was not me singing to a JT song
danDAman 