There is a sweetness to the fruits of ignorance I rarely taste, too drunk on the wine of Naiveté is the reason I suppose.
I consider myself a wielder of truth, not because I am its servant, its protector, or its slave. I say this because it is something that through me has become weaponized.
Do not mistake for a moment, that in this somber revelation, I am see it as a moment to regale as if some great boon has befallen me. Far from it.
For me its the assassins blade, the huntsmen’s bow, the executioners axe. I can no more avoid it as shore bound rocks can the breaking tide.
You think, that I may be in a fit of self aggrandizing drama to speak in such a bellicose, but absolutist way.
You would be In Err.
I see the truth regardless, if am I looking, denying, begging that it be hidden, fearful that upon its reveal, of its outright destruction of me.
The truth is, I always see it, for what it is, and so often that weapon leaves its wounds all over, but without exception…
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