late night talking, but i can't tell
if i'm talking to myself
or to somebody else
and everything i say is either real
or just rhyming with reality
and to be honest
i don't know the difference anymore
i'll tell you, in words
overflowing with the truth
spilling out through the cracks of uncertainty
falling to the floor as lies
because
this is how it feels
and it feels like the only truth i've ever told
the rest is false, but at least i can tell you
that before the words left my mouth
they were flesh and ink and blood and water
alive and kicking, swimming
stabbing little things
but there's something about the night air
or the sunshine
or the real life, i don't know
whatever i'm missing, it affects them
like putting them in brackets
(emotions become afterthoughts)
like adding quotations
"this was said by someone else"
like ending the sentence
there are no more true words.