White,

Like a dove or a light from Heaven,

A symbol of purity.

If white defines something pure, then why do I feel so dark?

White lies,

Habits to tell half-truths and non-truths for a second more of innocence,

But lies build up.

They are the match that is struck to light the fire.

One after the other they build and build until finally it is no longer a simple white lie,

But something darker.

These lies grow like vines and trap and tangle anything that grows around them.

If I say this instead of that maybe I’ll feel better.

Maybe they won’t think differently of me,

Maybe it will make me feel at ease,

But that is not the case.

Living with lies is a burden,

Like a strong force on my chest that weighs me down.

I can’t breathe.

Guilt,

Regret,

But the buildup has made it that if I tell the truth everything with fall with it.

Each lie is a vital piece to a structure.

They each hold it together.

They keep me safe by taking me further from the truth.

If one is removed, the whole thing collapses with it.

Lies shield me from myself,

But I’m tired of lies.

I want truth,

But the truth is terrifying.

Even so, the thought of living in lies for even a second longer scares me even more.

I need to find the way out of this tunnel,

But my tunnel has no light.

I’m blind.

No one can see me.

I can’t find my way out.

Then, I kick something.

I bend over and pick it up,

A flashlight.

But do I want to use it to find a way out?

Do I want the fire to be put out?

Do I want to cut the vines?

Do I want to lift the burden?

Do I want to let the structure fall?

Do I want to find the end of the tunnel?

I’m at a fork in the road and one side has the appearance of happiness,

But it is an illusion.

The other side is a dark forest with terrible creatures waiting for me,

But past this forest, is something else.

There’s a place to find real happiness,

A place to find the truth,

A place to find myself.