The Architecture of a Lie

The first lie is a tiny seed,

So small you barely feel the deed.

You plant it deep inside your mind,

A harmless fiction, gentle, kind.

"I'm not that tired," "It doesn't hurt,"

You sweep the pain into the dirt.

You water it with your denial,

And practice your well-practiced smile.

The second lie becomes a wall,

To hide you when you fear you'll fall.

It's built from "I am doing fine,"

And "This life, truly, is all mine."

It blocks the view of your own doubt,

And keeps the real you locked right out.

Then comes a lie with gilded beams,

The one that fuels your waking dreams.

"I'll be happy when I'm thinner,"

A ghost that makes you a beginner,

In your own life, a constant chase,

To find a never-present place.

You add more rooms, a spacious hall,

To answer every single call.

A lie for work, a lie for love,

A lie to fit like a tight glove.

You live inside this grand design,

This fragile, shaky, vast pantomime.

From the outside, it looks so grand,

A palace built on shifting sand.

But inside, you are the lone keeper,

A secret, terrified, sad reaper,

Of the truth you cannot face,

In this self-built, hollow space.

But listen hear the structure groan,

A sound that comes from deep in bone.

A crack appears within the glaze,

In unexpected, quiet ways.

A tear that will not be suppressed,

A moment of untamed unrest.

The facade wavers, starts to break,

And for your own deliverance's sake,

You take a hammer, made of breath,

And walk right into your own death

The death of who you thought you were,

That constant, draining, inner whir.

The palace falls with a soft sigh,

As truth looks up to meet the sky.

The ruins are a blessed ground,

Where your authentic self is found.

Not in the lie, serene and vast,

But in the truth, alive at last.