What if every time you lied it was put into a book. What if everyone had their own personal book of lies. And you could read it anytime you'd like. However what if some one else read it, what if they found out who you really was behind that wall of lies?

If I had a book of lies it would be huge. I hate liars but I am one. My book would start when I was 5 and began to understand the concept of lying. It would begin with small innocent lies, such as the ones about taking a cookie from the cookie jar before supper or drawing on the walls. But then as I get older the lies increase they began to grow from saying I didn't do it to I fell down stairs. The lies about how I got a black eye when I was 8, to bruises on my legs.

The book would hold the lies of my past, from when I lied about my family to when I was 11 and lied to my mom about what I knew about my dad cheating. It would be quoted and dated in the book my exact words my exact lies. The lies I used to cover my fathers dirty secret that only I was aware of. The lies I told to explain to my mom why he was out late. I was still a child innocent and gullible. Every time my father asked me to lie I got a new pair of shoes, new game, new toys. So of course I lied my mother would believe me.

The lies would continue to grow the book would be large ripping at the seams from all of the pages. The lies I told myself my family my friends my teachers and my preacher all in my book of lies. The simple white lies to the going straight to hell from swearing on a bible lies.

My lies define me they are the reason my friends don't know me, they are why my mother hates me, the reason I am who I am. I lie because it's easy. Much easier than having to explain the truth. If anyone ever read my book of lies people would be shocked to realize how I could live a life of lies. How they could have believed all of them how my life seems so perfect behind closed doors. My mother would hake her head at the disbelief that her 4.0 GPA scholar could have lied about where she was who he was.

My preacher would wash his hands in holy water of he ever held that book for the filth of lying sins would make the devil turn away. My best friend would wonder how she could not even know the truth about me how she could have known me for 11 years and still not know half of the real me.

If there was a book of my lies I would probably purposely leave it out for someone to find, just so everyone could know the real me. Yet, I would be gone for my suicide note would be laying right beside it.