The Lie

Life is a Lie.

We all lie.

You lie.

I lie.

I lie face down on the broken blacktop. My skull cracked open by the crushing weight of Reality oozes my still pulsing brain out onto the pavement like hot lava almost imperceptibly flowing down the mountainside. My eyes straining to remain open watch from an oblique angle the steady stream of thick quickly coagulating blood that pours from my center. My Heart as always bleeds the black and red indelible ink that fuels my being and creates the illusion of existence. I hear the hushed murmurs of shock and disgust that escape from the mouths of bystanders that I imagine are staring down at me wide-eyed in awe and struggling unsuccessfully to hold their tongues as they question whether their vision of my crippled and broken body is real. I laugh.

"It is real," I scream out silently. "It is real. I am real!"

From some dark and distant corner of my mind I hear a familiar echo: "Cogito ergo sum." I think therefore I am. I am real. Thank you Descartes. You gave sentience to my void. Cast form for my phantom. Put flesh on my bones. From your imagination I was born. By your thoughts I lie.

I lie face down on the broken blacktop. My life. My Lie.