I know truth to be little else than a blade 

which use changes with the wielder. 

Molded to a scalpel, it is made as a doctor

bringing relief from tender, hidden pain. 

Truth can be a saw, gnawing through

the chains and shackles of ordinary life.

I've known people who take truth as a butcher's knife,

ripping apart simple flesh limb from limb,

and the shiny blade of truth bathes in cruelty. 

Broken children have kept distorted truths to be thin razors

they rake against their wrists... thighs... stomachs...

streaming with darkened blood.

Truth is, truth is a blade. 

Freedom and pain mingling fearlessly in the open air.