A beautiful tapestry

So much guilt

it gathers like silt

what a tangeled web we weave

when we start to decieve

a small lie at first

then the dam doth burst

soon you tell another

to a son or mother

and yet more you tell

on your private path to hell

nothing any more is true

there is nothing left that's you

your whole life has become a lie

from now until the day you die

from now

until the day you die

Author's Notes/Comments: 

as with most, there is the irony of my life.

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