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Not Knowing

Truth is terse. Truth is monosyllabic. Spoken, truth begins in the front of the mouth, escaping through pursed lips. Attacking, truth seeps beneath skin. Emerging, truth rises above it in flushed cheeks and shortened breaths. Truths transposed twisted like fallen girders cannot sustain my weight. But truths impaled piercing and infinite threaten to destroy all I know and all I am comfortable not knowing.

Not Knowing

Truth is terse. Truth is monosyllabic. Spoken, truth begins in the front of the mouth, escaping through pursed lips. Attacking, truth...