Cave of Deceit

My mouth is a cave of deceit.

It has little teeth like rocks which’ll tell you

that blue eyeshadow really works for you,

and a serpentine tongue that will be the first to tell you

how slim you look in that dress and

Really? Colored contacts? I never would have guessed.

If honesty were light,

the darkness in my soul would swallow it,

with labored breaths of fear,

and echoed words of “I’m okay, I swear.”

I don’t remember what honesty tastes like,

with varying tastes at times bearing sweet midsummer fruit,

edged with the nectar of liberation,

and other times the venom that seeps into your heart

and breaks it.

But how many times the fruit be venomous,

and the venom saved my life?

These lies curl like acrobats on my tongue,

and fly off like jet planes,

filled with detonation,

ready to defend the home base.

And how effectively these jet planes,

with perfect precision,

never missing the target.

But  perhaps the only target they only miss,

the most important,

is the one who dispatches the troops at all.