Truth as Fiction


This truth is fiction
Made up to impress
Or to undermine
Or to create a universe
Where anything goes
But how would I know?
I am only its author
Its de facto parent figure
Lost in my own conscience
These words on the screen
Like a pen to page
Back when those things mattered
When innocence was fresh
And new like unblemished snow
Before the loss of faith
When ribbons had wings
And ledges had lips
When caterpillars smoked
And magic was for everyone
But time waits for none
These words strung together
Like macaroni on a cord
A thin line between truth
And a simple kind of lie
And I see no difference
The utter deconstruction
Of intention and grace
Lost in disturbing rhetoric
In a fiction so compelling
It can’t help but be true
Even though I wrote it
With tongue firmly in cheek
Sometimes that’s for the best
In the transformation
Between what’s make believe
And what can be proven
By time and consequence
And sometimes they are
One and the same.


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