Truth In The Time of Cholera

aaaaaa
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It is a nagging feeling to be lied to,
By everyone I know, or have known,
Bluffed by serial words, of a pastime,
That makes white lies, burning wounds.
I still howl, like a stray dog, being called
So many names, so often, as I open up, for just some
Feed, from kind souls, who look at me,
That wasted bony canine, who can never fit in to
A world of fabricated convenience,
Of deception and omission.
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And they go on, like they have a bout of cholera
And their anuses have been fitted
Between the nose and chin, and I look at them,
Vultures, who love metabolizing flesh,
And still will hunt away at my legacy, when I’m gone.
I feel for them. How can you not feel,
For lie-worshippers, who go from littering
Wounding lies and possessing a heart
That can never be defined by fraternal love,
Only hate, Cane so very well knew,
And Abel took in his back. .
 ##
I will not walk away from imposters,
Selling counterfeit labels at my expense.
I’m my own biography, a story so transparent in honesty,
That it makes little babies, gifted liars,
As I go on, bouncing from,
One attack to another, slander like that sharp axe,
Which tries to cut the taller bamboo, strangled
By vengeance, while I tread slowly,
Holding on to wounds of betrayal, of those, whose loyalty
Was thinner than paper.
 ##
How did honesty become so lonely, I wonder,
Winking at the piano man,
As I let go of my troubles and fall asleep,
Knowing there will be gas
In the tank, the next morning, while my body
Will reflect all that is thrown at me,
Like a mirror that can attest to the hollowness of lies,
That bear ripened fruits, but is bare
Below the ground, with no holding roots
To be standing in permanency.
 ##
It is only me, for myself,
The convenient mad man, who will stand for honesty,
In a time of cholera, a man who only
Spoke the unassailable truth, of who I am,
In an epidemic-prone world
Leaking out watery lies,
Flooding ear canals, disfiguring
The moldable truth, as seen, as heard,
By millions of custodians,
While the truth ossifies on holy ground,
Where my conscience is found,
To become a substratum,
Impenetrable to all forces,
Even God.