In Truth

In truth I have nothing to say

In lies, well… that’s another story

A story well hidden and bound in black

No title or markings to identify the words within

To label them

To connect them with the author

They are indistinct and undetailed

They could be part of anyone’s story but no

Those pages were extracted from mine

Torn from the spine of my novel

Of my book

Of my story

A story set in strange places, and even stranger times

Prose that stops. And starts again with no thought for the reader

A reader confused and wondering where this is all going

So many actions cut short, so many chapters left unfinished

Lead characters vanishing without a trace

Narratives reigned in to hide the meaning between the lines

But there are pages missing, wound with jagged edges

Maybe someday I will find that little black book

I will carefully place those pages back where they belong

And the story will probably make a little more sense

But most of all it will be whole

Because in lies there is nothing ever said

But my truth, well…. That’s all part of my story

The End

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