who really shot JFK
I think my brain is
filled with theories
I can’t prove and do
not want to
like a jigsaw puzzle whose picture
I do not wish to see
but can't stop putting the pieces until I do
cringing at each new revelation
telling myself all
this can't be true
needing it to be untrue and yet
I can't stop desperate
as she is to get to the truth
if there is such a thing
my twisted morality projects
pictures of the wall of shadows
reality I'm scared to go out
into the light to
discover for myself
some truths are like burried treasure
are best left where they lay
letting life go on without evidence
yet as with JFK
I will always wonder how much
I don't know and
can't stop myself
from finding out
wishing to leave the curtain closed
letting the wizard
maintain his illusion
undetected
truth hurts more than fantasy does
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