Creative lies tell the story of the weak ones, the chosen ones. The world puts a sin on each person. A new born born keeps their faith in the palm of their hands. As they grow older, you see scars on their wrists. Creative lies need to stop. We are to weak to get out of bed. People say go to safety, but when we walk through those doors will our demons follow? Will they keep us down and unsteady? One flip of the switch anxiety, fear, and the desires kick in. Locked in a bedroom with no protection from ourselves, it tends to let me cry and die inside. I buried my soul where you would never find it.