Twenty-four Carat

"Just be honest," she says "Just be honest with me." As if I can be anything with her while my heart is playing catch-up and my mind is a mine shaft of harrowed thoughts and forgotten projects and while she thinks I've got things locked away from her in my brain, I'm struggling to find the words to explain that I lost my key a long time ago. Trust me on this one, facts are fleeting. The truth has never set me free because the truth runs like a rat from a flashlight and has more of a hood on than Trayvon did - the truth is a dick. Believe me when I say that my perception is built on lies and all too often I'm telling them to myself. I promise you: I can't be trusted but I'm in here somewhere, trying to label things with a white crayon. Truth is a con-man. Truth is a terrorist to reliability, collapsing a fortress of preconceived notions that took 20 years, 4 months, and 5 days to build. I try and map out how I feel and then the slot machine whirs again. Cha-ching, a brand new reality. I can't confirm shit. There aren't enough eraser shavings in the world to try and fix what I thought was indisputable. I knew it. I knew it - words speak much louder than actions.