The Truth

When we tell ourselves to be honest, 

how can we know what is true?

What if the judgement we've always known

is a foreign scent to a brother?


If the slip of the tongue

becomes the slip of the mind, 

Is it still true

in your eyes?


Have I changed the memory?

My voice is a drip of toxic paint, 

filling the white sliver

into a shade of silver


I will never be sure what I say is right, 

and neither will you


and that is the only truth I know... 


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