the secrets that he tries to hide
come streaming through the many cracks
that line the attic of his mind
that he thinks no one sees
the groom, unfaithful to the bride;
decrying truth, denying facts,
to one day sadly, truly find
that lies are like the breeze:
they seem to travel far away,
but always blow back home one day;
though paint and scrub and spin we must,
it’s all just light
and cracks
and dust
To share is human:
