what happens when you reach a stage where you cant decide if you're leaving a truth or a lie?

and is there a difference between a half truth, and a half lie, and if there is even such a thing in the first place.

and because of this indecision, you wonder if everyone else around you is deluded, or maybe the one deceiving oneself and everyone else is yourself all along.

so they say you're hidden behind this mask, this facade. and you almost roll your eyes and the cliche of it all.

and then you begin to wonder if you really are on stage, in an opera, maybe not behind a mask, but heavily made up all the same, until you become unrecognisable.

you wish to turn to solitude, or any form of comfort, but find that being in the former is actually much easier because you dont have to deal with the complications.

and running away is the best outlet man has ever thought up.