#96

Over and over again.
Over and over again.
For the many times
I could count,
and for the many times
I couldn't.

No better way
to tell a tale
so vivid,
so truthful,
so unquestionable,
than with a face showing no emotion
and a voice having no soul.

I've lied a few times too many.
I was once truthful,
and now
there are fences lying across,
made from a noose
Pinocchio tied himself.

There was no forest.
Only sticks.
Crooked, bent,
imperfectly cut and broken.
The soil still damp
from long walks
followed by rain and tears.

It hurts, truly.
It truly hurts.

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