I convince myself
conforming my thoughts
changing my memories
lies
I tell others
relaying imagery
that has never been seen
by my own eyes
but I believe them to be true
the stories
insanity
my own lies
turn to fact in my mind
and i wonder
what is real anymore
confusion
my life is a lie
my mind is convoluted
but sometimes it is better that way
I believe I am something I am not, to hide from myself the memories of what I have done. But doesn't the past make me who I am today? And yet I have altered my past memories. I am my own lie.
