I think it is time.
Time for a confession.
So what do you want me to confess?
The rumors you believe to be true?
Or the truth?
But no, you'd rather hear the rumors, the juicy gossip
then the truth.
Because the truth is harsh.
And no on likes stark reality.
So if I confessed, would you doze off?
Then take what I confessed and change it?
Give your friends a twisted version?
So here is my confession-
I have no confession to give.
I will tell my secrets on my deathbed.
So I do not believe now is the time for a confession.
YOU ARE READING
We're All Mad Here
PoetryJust a series of poems. A series of words. A collection of stories. A collection of feelings. I think I've explained enough, it's up to you to read on.