Promises unrepaired don't hurt as do the pledges stillborn and silent. They are the lies we tell ourselves, the lines left out to make the leaving easier. Shading the truth to me built on the illicit and confusing cacophony in your own delusion. How am I to trust and treat in truth the words you use to handle and appease me?
I sense your fear and turmoil, turbulent and winding though your management may be.
Should I say I see your show you enact for this audience? Should I "Bravo!" and cheer or simply take my leave?
No argument will stand or suffice when the deception starts with self. No right repartee will pierce the veil and assuage the pain of your deceit. If you cannot share your shame, if my very being is so unbecoming, only tell me and the moment is passed.
To manage only makes more mess.
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