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.