It’s better to to tell me,

To give me your glasses and let me see.

It’s better to stop hiding,

To not leave me blind, crying.

Please turn on a light,

Let it creep through the darkness, make it right.

Black is more blinding,

Than any lie you’ve ever told, still binding.

I know you’re scared,

But it’s okay, I’ve come prepared.

I’ve thought, and thought, and thought it through:

Making me wonder’s just leaving me blue.

I don’t care how many more tears I could shed,

Lies hurt more than the truth that you’ve fled.

There’s no easy way to say it, I know.

But when you don’t tell me, you’re burying me 6ft under a bunch of snow.

So tell me, tell me all that you’ve thought,

And let me be the judge myself if that is what I sought.

What I sought to know, rather than guess,

Because all you’re doing right now is just making a mess.

It’s better to tell me, please.

Just let me know the truth; At least.

. . .

I have now heard you,

Heard so loud and clear,

That I now know, now realize,

It wasn’t the truth,

But you I feared.