I rue the day I began to wonder,
"Who will be the first to insult my dead Father?"
I am nearly 20, and it's finally happened.

Though it would be easy to say
I am tempted to rip the boy's throat out,
I can't.

The path is too smooth, too short;
to which I say:

I avoid as best as I can to take the shortest path,
not because I am stubborn, not because I want to prove anything,
but because the shortest path
-often filled with smooth stones and the scent of roses-
is often the wrong path.
You are tricked into feeling rewarded before realizing you've plunged deeper
into your selfishness.

With every decision there is the offer of the short path,
and with every short path taken,
you become smaller, and smaller,
until the world around you is but a forest of colossal leaves and giant insects.
The world will be too big to understand,
and you will be small, confused, and sad.

You might lie to yourself and say "But I am big! I see what many cannot; I see what YOU cannot see!"

And that is not correct, but it's alright.
Maybe you can die happier,
believing you have not been consumed by your choices,
believing you understand,
believing you are big.

Lie to yourself, it's alright.
If the short path is what you've chosen all this time,
then truth is not what you seek.

Lies should not be a problem to you,

should they?