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When does lying grow to be such a part of your life that you lie, not just to others, but to yourself; that you start believing the lie because it is unbearable to remember to remember the truth; that you no longer remember the truth, that your are shattered when you realise that the lie is a lie, because you've forgotten what the truth was and it cuts you open with a hundred-edged knives and you piece together the bleeding fragments with the filaments of stronger lies because you no longer remember how not to lie?

Leave me be; let me turn my face to the wall and cry invisible tears that will not soak my cheeks, because I've forgotten how to cry, how not to show the world a smiling face when I'm hollow and rubbed raw, how not to hide behind larger walls of lies.