so many things in my life have been a lie.
        i mean it's not really anyones fault but mine.
thats the thing though,
     the faults.
we all falter, and alter, and change how we are.
  but why?
        why do i always think its necessary to be someone else?
stories make me more interesting..
       but for how long?
my memory is so good because
   i got myself into a big mess and i have to keep all the lies i tell in line.
i did this with her
     (and she did this to me)
lies about telling the truth.
    what is the truth, really?
i'm not sure
    if i'll ever know.