The Liar and The Knife


To tell the truth

and wound myself

and everything around me,

or sow a garden

of bullshit flowers

and smile.

Fingers rest upon the keyboard,

tongue ready to push out


or heresy.

A riddle of the world

might ask,

“If all our ties that bind

are more

truth that lies?”

Falsehoods interbreed

with truths we can see,

and over generations intermarry and seed

an inbred, bastard generation

that gets brought to their knees

by truth.

Is a lie worthwhile

if it saves a life?

What about

if it saves the world?

Is one tale

strong enough

to stand the gale

of time?

We think we know

truth when we see it,

but every day

we speak a lie

and we believe it.

Small mistruths

that get us through our day,

string moments together,

like a little piece of tape.

But they break

and we’re no longer there

to care.

Already gone on

to our next charade.

To speak the truth

is to wield a blade.

Is all truth the same?



Are we all to blame?

Living so many lies

every day.

Do we dare ask ourselves

to change?

Turn that knife inward

and start carving away?

What would be left of us

if we could extricate

ourselves from all of these

things we fabricate.

Would we then

have truth?

At what cost?

Can we remove

ourselves from

this part of us,

so imbued

with ourselves?

I guess I’ll start

with one truth.

One cut.

One wound.

Then another,

and one more.

I think I need to know

at my core,

if I

am truth,

or a lie.



DJR – 2023

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