The Bread of Truth

Lies hurt. Honesty kills.

I have stilled myself with

The brutal thought of you.

She’s broken. I’m broken.

My love is a broken

Glass of red wine, like blood

Draped across the hearth, like

Blood upon the fireplace

Spilled and soaked by ashes.

Tempestuous in love,

As a Pekingese dog

Barking at wolves and mice.

We are two children found

By social services,

Unable, hardly, to

Breathe. Our faces blue with

The cold and the neglect.

You look at us, starved of

Truth, and are glad for your

Warm homes and sweet spouses.

Lies, which will hurt when you

View our truth. But they are

Not fatal, no. They are

The precursor to death.