It has been determined (by some math equation)
that our lies are the truth
and our truths are a mock-up:
created by gossip
because the lies are digestable
but the truths are like ketchup
with inconsistent textures
that forge complex constructs
in an otherwise smooth,
uncompromised catsup.
So put on your plexi-glass shoes
and put walls up
around you and choose
to exchange all your time
for a pay-check
that leaves you lost
and empty
and lifeless.
Unable to take off a mask.
To me, my truth is not worth all of this.
I live in a ditch and I deal in ketchup.
I don't care if anyone gets it:
they can all smear in their
libelous catsup.
I will not walk on a bridge
for a pay-check
with my feet bound in plexi-glass
telling convenient jests
to make other people laugh, and,
haha, understand,
I guess:
because the truth as we know it
is beyond others' grasps.
-clw
