When I was a kid, I thought like a kid, I talked like a kid, and I reasoned like a kid. I believed the world, and the things you told me. You said 2+2 is 5 and my truth became 2+2 is 5. You said blue was yellow and green was blue, so I talked of a yellow sky and of a green sun. You told me up was down and down was up, left was right, and right was wrong. You said I shouldn’t cry, and fighting against it would make it worse, so I kept quiet and believed you when you said I deserved it. You told me east was north and south was west, and I ended up walking in the wrong direction. You told me dreams were lies and hope was fake. You told me I was nothing. You said tears were joy and smiles were evil, so I didn’t smile. You promised me you came with realities, that what you spoke was truth. But the only truth I know now is that a promise is a lie.
2+2 isn’t 5, it’s 4. Trees are green and the water is blue, it’s wrong that is wrong, not right. Nothing falls up, and everything is something. When my truth became a wrong, how do I know what to believe in anymore? How do I know who I can trust? When a promise is a lie, what is real?
I made a mistake in believing the lies that the world told me, but I’m making a mistake when I don’t believe in the truths it tells me now too. But I can’t know which is which. How do I know when you’re deceiving me, and when you’re pulling me out of the fire? How do I know when to jump, and when to curl up in a fetal position and wait for everything to pass? I crashed into the world, and into the pain. I crashed, crashed, crashed. I know the risk, and I’m afraid.
I am afraid.
I know how far down I can fall. I know how hard it is to walk on a tightrope. I know the mud and how it feels like quicksand. I know how it is when you’re goinggoingoing, but you get nowhere, like in a hamster wheel. I know no hope and I know darkness. And I know all this because I trusted. I trusted the world like a kid, because I was a kid. And the promises were lies. And truths were lies. My truth became a wrong, and I don’t know what or who to believe in anymore.
When I was a kid, I thought like a kid, I talked like a kid, and I reasoned like a kid. I believed the world and the things you told me. You said the earth was flat and everything revolved around it. You said that loud was quiet and hard was soft, so I talked of quiet thunder and soft pushes. You told me dangerous was safe, and pain was good. You said that some people deserve torment, so I tormented myself. You promised me you came with realities, that what you spoke was truth. And you told me I was worthless.