I’ve read lies only to write truth.

And that’s the true lie.

My teacher played the ruler like the flute and I saw chalk create distant friction,

between my illusions of grandeur,

and the laws I thought to be free will pretending to have fought a revolution in, seclusion.

For that delusion I seek words in a book that speak honest falsity.

For after so I may gain a light needed to find my darkness and near my own truth at last.