Semi-daily Spewage of Philosophical Prose

Not a lot of people care what the truth is.
I do.
It's the only thing that can save me from myself
But I am a microcosm,
The world is a macrocosm.
And the world should care about the truth
For the self-same reason.

---

Into the bitter end
With epic soul that we pretend!
Could carry us from simple fate
To fantasy where we relate

Into the better end
With wishful thinking we ascend!
Could our broken hearts find their mend?
In false relief, where we don't hate.

---

I slowly start to cut pieces of flesh from my body
Dig in and dissect
Collecting examples of what the outside world sees
Under it all I know the devastation I have caused
Upon myself and this world

Speak to me freely.
I am listening