Poetry

when will we choose to change
when will we start to see
that the image in the mirror
just isn’t what it’s suppose to be
that everything we take as truth
has been fabricated, strand by strand
that 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
of an incurable 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?