The Change is the Untruth
Breathing it in wholly
And nothing left to give,
It aches, but can’t be held.
And thinks it knows why it does.
But does it?
Except
That very question makes anger of shame
Agony written in black scrawl,
“How could you say it’s untrue?”
And thinks it knows why it does.
And, maybe it’s right.
And, maybe I need to accept
that in the light of constantly trying to change,
the change is the untruth.