I lie to myself all of the time and
To be honest, I am not quite sure why
Because occasionally they whisper
What I need to hear and wish to deny
But mostly, they spread doubt and fear as I
Start to question it all, life itself and
They fill me with just enough hope to keep
Me breathing, choking me with just one hand
While the other strokes my hair, endearing;
I feel overwhelmed in my perception,
Jaded by the truth as I'm burned by each
Question, sinking further in deception,
I tell myself it should be possible
Only to go and tarnish it fully
With every reason it will never
Happen, while my chance is fifty-fifty.