Poetry

when will we choose to change?
when will we start to see
that the image in the mirror
isn’t what we’re meant to be
that everything we take as truth
has been fabricated, strand by strand
and there is so much more to it
than we could ever understand
what if we’re all infected
with a sickness no one sees
unaware we’re suffering
from a curable disease
what if all we have are lies
& they’re the only thing worth living
what if on the other side
is a life not so forgiving?