**The Truth Hurts, Doesn't It?**

In the quiet chambers of our hearts,
where shadows dance and whispers linger,
the truth sits heavy, like a stone,
unveiling the fragile illusion
we've nurtured with tender hands.

Beneath the laughter, the masks we wear,
lies a tapestry of fear and hope,
woven with threads of longing,
an intricate design of shattered dreams,
each stitch a memory, a moment,
that pulls at the seams of our sanity.

We hold our truths like fragile glass,
cradling them against our chests,
afraid that if we breathe too deeply,
they might crack and spill—
the shards cut our palms,
feelings laid bare in the light of day,
exposed, raw, and aching.

What is it about the truth
that sends shivers down the spine,
leaving us breathless in its wake,
the relentless ache of reality,
brutal and beautiful,
an uninvited guest at our table,
nibbling at the edges of our comfort?

We tell ourselves comforting lies,
wrap ourselves in layers of denial,
the sweet armor of ignorance,
until we can no longer hear
the soft murmurs of our souls,
lost in the cacophony of avoidance.

But still, the truth waits patiently,
a beast lurking, ready to...