Put on smiles, dance with your uncles,
Even when you feel your heart,
Crawling into your throat.
Clinging onto hope,
With bare white knuckles.
Clenched teeth as lies flow through your lips.
Bite your tongue before,
Like honey,
The truth drips.
And like honey,
The truth will stick.
Painting you with the scent of sweet sugars.
Attracting the smallest of predators.
Sneaking into your garden and home,
Coming inside to freely roam.
Trickling...
Trickling...
Trickling...
Infesting your floorboards,
Cracking your foundation.
Caving in the roof.
The house collapses,
The honey is the only proof.
They blame the sweet truth.
Truth...
Truth...
Truth...
They point their fingers at the honey-dipped words,
But they refuse to look at the predators.
It is in their nature to go that way,
They say.
The honey should not have existed.
It should have been cleaned up and hidden.
It should have remained behind clenched teeth,
Within glass jars in dark cupboards.
The predators will always exist,
As does the honey within the cupboards.
The honey should not apologize,
In its purest form of truth.
The honey deserves to sit in the sun,
Soak into its own floorboards.
Glisten brightly without fear,
Allowing the honey to exist here,
And rebuild the destroyed house
Into a home.
