If I collected the lies I've been told I could make myself a skeleton. 206 hollow bones made of hollow words. The bigger lies are structural support, holding up the rest of me. 33 dishonest "I love yous" could be 33 intersecting vertebrae, composing my curving spine.
Spiderweb truths, theirs and mine, will weave my new skin. An average of 20 feet of sticky substance, easily torn and easily rewoven.
Words will circulate like blood through the 100,000 miles of my veins. Cynicism creates phagocytes, attacking all foreign bodies of hope.
2 hazel eyes are formed from memories. Green from springs come and gone. Brown from Autumns just the same. Rods and cones of years gone by interpret the way I see things now.
My heart is love, beating on and on. 72 times 24, beating, beating, beating, never stopping till death. My soul, however, is borrowed from nothing else. It is always my own.
