Unable to blend the two into one without periodic flashes of truth
that reveal the dichotomy of my reality and betray the illusion outright
Making the consistency hard to maintain.
The persona, its perfection marred only by acceptable flaws of social construction
The other, a living being contorted to maintain the illusion
They draw me out with the bait
Looking for some facts to twist back into some semblance of the illusion.
Occasionally we come to crisis created by the inability to tolerate our truths
Seeking to restore the myth, we wind our facts into narratives
Hoping to disguise the inconsistency of reality with a pretty lie dressed up in theories
Running away from the truth, we only trip up over the inconsistencies
The inconvenient truths of our imperfections and failures
Cannot overcome the engineering of our most contorted perfection
In which reality is the disease, and lies are the cure
Inevitably comes the crash, through the conflict of what is and what we pretend to be
In the end, the illusion is the reality and the truth is the psychosis we hope to deny.
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