The ease of it all is 

Eerie

The too simple nature 

Of putting words on the page

That reflect some halfway version

Of my feelings and true intent

When a truth is halved

Does it still contain its full weight

And if its weight is halved 

When I write it twice, does that do away with it all

Or does it

Half and

Half and

Half and

Half and 

Half and

Half and 

Half and so on

Maybe that's why I can never quite settle

All of these half-truths I've cemented with

Words of my mind

Do the remnants of the whole truth weigh me down

Or is it the fear of forgetting the whole truth that burdens me

I don't really care