Every time you lie a piece of me dies. There can't be an us with lack of trust. You have no respect for the truth or any of its components. Truth the prerequisites for trust, the foundation for hope and dreams that holds the house in which love lives, but none of it matters when you'd
rather make believe that your lies don't matter.
Disillusioned by your illusion to be someone or some thing other...
disappointed by who you really are.
disappointed by who you really are.
Sad and drained because trying to remember who you pretend is exhausting,
puzzled by the fact that you have not grown past make believe.
I wonder how hard it is to live the life of a liar.
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