anything but the truth.

Shake it out. That's what I'll do, just shake it out. This feeling. This want. This urge. This nothingness inside of me. But it's gotta be something. It's gotta mean something. It would mean the world to me if I could just find the words to get it out. Shake it out. Spit it out already.
What would you do to take it all back? Start over. Chapter one, page one. Writer's block, already? But you've just begun. This is the moment you've been dying for. This is your chance to throw it all away. Everything you've ever worked for; every mistake you've ever made.
This isn't about you and me.
This isn't about being right or wrong.
This is about living with the choices you make.
This is about the time I couldn't make up for what I did.
This is about a time.
It's about time we established a connection. I'm glad we're on the same page, but I'm afraid we haven't yet started writing the first chapter.
The audience is patient but they can only wait for so long.
Patience is a virtue I do not posess.
Scribbling furiously. This pen must make haste for I have a story to tell, and I'll tell it well.
I'll tell all of a boy whose heart was good. He understood right from wrong but still would rather sing a song than to sit and talk such foolishness. He made his parents proud for in him they found a blessing. They were understanding of this boy whose heart was filled with joy and knew better than to second-guess him. A good, young Christian boy was simply his cover up, a mere decoy. They soon found out he was not this boy they had envisioned. Their hearts were crushed by this head-on collision. They said he'd fail in a life without God and that he'd be a wreck. But he grew tired of this facade and left the restaurant without paying his check. He went along singing songs and moved on with every intention to prove them wrong. He thought he would be better off so he simply laughed and scoffed, but he should have seen this coming. He lost his all; he lost it friends. He lost his way, death was the end. His family gathered at his grave site. They exchanged words, "It'll be all right."
And so you have it. You haven't changed a thing.
You started where you left off because you love to sing.
You sang all day to block the noise coming from little girls and boys.
You sang all day because there is no wrong way to sing a song if no one knows it anyway.
You sang all day because anything sounded better than the truth.
Give me anything but the truth.