Life and Lies

The fine tightrope I walk everyday
With flailing arms, tilting askew
And they beckon me with white hands
Sadly like the lies that I live everyday
Knowing that armors are after everything-
Beaten metal with holes in them- however small.

And when a little part of me seeps through
Silently, unknowingly- I try and piece myself back
Only to see frayed edges, and gaping holes
Where the chunks of myself are missing- for I
Possibly gave them to somebody else.

And they cackle- at the oddity of a netted silhouette
With spindly arms and a sad paunch walking
A stilted tightrope- They know not that he has yet
To fall- Or maybe, the meshed vision of a fall too many
Is far too insignificant for the beast within.

All in all, I love the fog of lies.
I love how it protects me.
It is better- than the clarity of silence
Of course better than the transparency of truth.