Do I really seek truth?
It's so ugly and uncouth
Each time I strip away a lie
I watch beauty whither and die.
How often does a gorgeous facade
Conceal something most retched and odd?
How often is the sound of praise
Used to manipulate and to maze?
Do the beliefs I cling to for hope
Wrap around my neck in the form of a rope?
Is the reality I think I exist in
Held up by a cloth worn and paper thin?
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