There was a snake
in your wineglass
or so you swore,
clutching your belly
like betrayal poured into your gut.

But it was a bow,
hanging quiet on the wall,
its shadow curved like doubt,
and still
you burned with poison
that was never there.

You made yourself sick with what you thought you saw.

Then there was the runner
barefoot prophet chasing fire,
arms outstretched like hope could be wrestled
from the sky.

He drank rivers dry
and still died of thirst.
His cane fell
and trees grew from the grave.

He never caught the sun.
But the sun scorched his name
into the earth.

You may never reach glory, but you’ll die a sermon if you run hard enough.
That’s the second lie.
Or maybe it’s truth.

Then came the fool,
eyes wide,
looking down a well
and seeing the moon trapped like a silver ghost.

He ran for a hook
not sense
and tried to fish the night from the water.
Rope snapped.
Back cracked.
Moon untouched.

And he still smiled,
told everyone
he’d saved the sky.

Delusion is lighter to carry than disappointment.
That’s the third lie.
The one we keep.

And now, you.
Drinking shadows.
Chasing fire.
Hooking reflections.

You build temples from misunderstanding.
You tattoo your fears on glass
and swear they bit you.

But the venom is your own.
The sun never owed you warmth.
And the moon was never drowning.

You were.

So here’s the truth within
We suffer by choice,
die by obsession,
and live inside illusions
that wear our fingerprints like mirrors.

Look close
it’s not the snake,
not the sun,
not the moon.

It’s you.