My Mental Chains

You tell me conflicting stories,
Versions that don't add together,
On one hand she's evil and twisted,
On another you've been unfaithful to her.

You tell me she doesn't trust,
She tells me you vanished into dust.

You tell me she made life hell,
She tells me you had no truth to tell.

You tell me she controlled your life,
She tells me you threatened her with a knife.

For mature adults,
You lack guts and brains.
Can't one of you speak the truth?
To unlock my mental chains?

Do you think this is fair?
Do you even care?
Certainly not enough to share,
But asking about history I must not dare.
Can the burden of truth be something I bare?