Lies are dangerous, but even more so is the truth.

Only candor could house such a higher placement than deception itself.

The truth with its syllables that spill from my tongue- wording, spitting, and

falling like dice, deciding one way or another, and never holding out on the

next one in line.

My voice is its messenger as I scream and summon agony.

It rises from my bladed tongue, before my lips kiss the air in hopes of grace

for the things my mouth has spewed into its depths.

Though with the pain my words have caused, they are not a curse, nor a

blessing; they are the knives I must choose to wield as my weaponry.