Minor chords,
Used to play on my heartstrings,
And clog up my throat,
With tales of fake truths,
And the firm-standing webs of no way out.

Dissonant thoughts,
Used to confuse my brain,
And split it in two,
Because it was made brittle,
By the "right" and "wrong" etched before understood.

Until I found that with the same strings,
And the same voice,
I could find truth.