As A Matter of Fact

You ask for a why but herein there lies no reason.
You want to know me deeper
and feel that the reason is real.

I can't offer you anything but uncertainty,
a look at the masks I wear and the lies
forever tied around my neck,
millstones crashing into the dark deeps.

This is me,
the real me,
the me never seen.
You wouldn't know me if you could see,
could see me being him
and he staring as me.

The most sincere thing I can do is lie.
Because stories embody more truth
then anyone can bare.
It's not like you can breath underwater
or take my life for it's problem.

I want to be free,
run free,
escape from this constraint of life.
To not feel like every breath of my being
is just another lie and another burden,
something to be tolerated but never accepted
for me.

I can be me but you wouldn't know me,
you would never see me walk across your street.
You are just happy knowing this half life
because you are afraid to be disappointed in my humanity.