WordBox

you live in a world of
make-believe where your
egocentric duplicity is the norm
and the half-truths you spew
to the winds fall on waiting ears
which nod in accordance of all you say
the faulty memories you reminisce
are but a painting rendered by
your own desires and guilty conscience
for what resides beneath
those vanilla skies
lash out if you must
to feed your hunger for power
and the need for a semblance of control
but your bitter accusations
can find no stable ground
when the foundation is forged
of fog and selfishness
and when it all clears everyone
will know your selfless acts
for the catalysts they truly were