bluff

I memorize lies because the truth speaks spontaneously. There are lines to learn and reasons to rehearse. No one wants to be caught speechless in the middle of the stage. The spotlight on the lies blinds and makes it so you can't sleep. Wear an eye mask maybe? Block out the light and have pleasant dreams. Problem solved. Or better yet, don't sleep. Use up those hours to hear who speaks while everyone else sleeps.

But I will sleep. We do sleep. You sleep. Someone here must sleep because all eyes can't stay open and all ears can't stay open and all beds can't stay closed to the inhabitants who wish to hide inside a subconscious dipped in the day's events. We are tenants of our mind. We pay for the utilities, but everything else is taken care of. We just have to remember the quarters for the laundromat. That's it.

It doesn't slip away when we slip away, though. It stands solid as ice, frozen to our hearts that listen for truth, but only hear lies. It stays and plays with the idea that we aren't quite right. There is the sinking feeling that our lives are lived on stage with directions and props and cues.

Inside of us rises the desire to seek a god or a star or a job to pay for our way back to health. With enough padding, we will heal. The blood will stop with enough cloth. We close the wounds and turn around to face the open window.

There is a mountain range ahead, lying. There are paths to walk, leading. There is a life out there, waiting.