Truth
I could bleed the truth.
Make it mine.
Hold it high.
Upon this empty shrine.
But no matter what.
You'd always make it hurt.
Your words, like razors, begin to cut.
Through my flesh.
To the bone.
Like gears grinding away.
My truth turns to stone.
You don't care about the pain.
The people you hurt.
The truth means nothing to you.
Words morose and curt.
I bleed the truth.
And leave it.
I'll let it grow pale.
While you watch. You sit.
There was no shrine.
Nothing but the stale air.
Wind turned to dirt.
Left the truth without a care.
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