In the end they'll judge me anyway, so whatever.

I hide behind the lies that fill my daily life.
It's easier that way.

If I admit to the truth, it makes it real.

It's easier to hold it deep inside myself. Down in the dark depths of myself, where no one is allowed. Where it's just an abyss.
You might think you can see it, this abyss. But you've got no idea. None at all. You think you know me, but you don't.

You don't know me at all.

There's no way you could, not with all these lies.
They're burying me alive. And you all talk like it's so easy. Like I can just dig myself out and be free.
It's not that easy.

It's easier to pretend the lies are the truth. So I make more up, pile more on, more on, making them more believable. Add depth to my lies, because that's how you spot them. Lies are flat. The truth has form, it isn't two-dimensional. So I add depth.

You have no idea the depth of my lies.

Oh, I can lie alright. I can make the truth be the lie, if I want.
I'm that good at it.

I'm not proud, no sir. Never proud of that. But I can lie just as easily and say I am.
I can look you right in the face and never crack a smile while saying I'm proud.
You'd never have any idea if I didn't let you. Because when I don't like lying, I give it away.

I know my tell, but do you?

I'm a deceiver and it's easy.
After all, I've been keeping these truths buried for years, hiding them beneath the lies.
And the best part?
The truth isn't even buried underneath.
It's deep, down: In the blackness, in that abyss.
So far down I don't know if I can ever tell the truth.

I just can't be honest.
(But maybe that's a lie, too.)