A writer?

A liar?

The same?

Or different?

I wash away my mask

When I take out a pen

I tell my secrets

But hide behind the words then

The words?

The lies?

The same?

Or different?

My outlet of joy

My outlet of pain

I let it all out

But it stays on the paper like a stain

The paper?

The lie?

The same?

Or different?

But I tell you everything

You could ever wish to know

How can it be a lie

When it's such pure truth? Though….

The truth?

A lie?

So different?

Or the same?

I don't know the answer

To these questions I ask

I thought I was showing myself

But maybe I was putting on a different mask.