My own self is my blind spot.

I can see the lies coming to hurt others, but when it comes to me, I can't.

I close my eyes at exactly that moment when it'll hit me like a battering ram from nowhere.

All those sweet, flowery words hit me, then, it stabs me half to death. Never did I evade the smiles, the gestures and the sweet-nothings that are sharp stakes that impale my being into the high walls of my own making. I hang there for what seems a life time, then Lies takes out the stakes. Slowly. Painstakingly. One by one. Then I drop 10 feet from the wall to the floor.

It leaves me lying there, battered and broken, lying in the pool of my own blood, thoughts and anger.

Then the Truth comes. He stares at my swollen eyes that must've cried a barrel of tears. Then he asks me why I believed in the lies that he brought to test me. Then, he steps over me, his feet landing on my blood pool. Then the Truth walks. He walks away from me.

I didn't see the lies coming, I scream after him. Never did I see it coming. I never did.

Is it my intuition which fails me?
Is it my gut that's at fault whenever this happens?
No.

I'm just ignoring the real score.
Dismissing evidences.
Denying the obvious.
Rejecting the truth.

If I were to create a bubble around myself to shield me from the pains of the outside world, I would have done so.

I would have done that a long time ago.

But the premises to believe in the lies that the truth brings with it is just so believable. They seem so tangible that I stray away from the path of bloody footprints that the truth left for me to follow. The lies are so...real.

You were real.
You were the one I considered my truth.
I shouldn't have believed in you from the start.

All you said and did were lies.

No. I'm wrong.

YOU were the lie.

And she's your truth.