Bread

The ability to lie without liability,
Is the perfection of the silver tongue.
When gawky stares become gazes of adoration,
Is that the love of one?
When brutally short words become sweet,
and my lies become nothing but fancied myths.
When my brick walls become bread,
Then maybe that’ll be the end.
But for now, I stare out my prison,
And sing my own designated song.
Waiting for the promised happiness,
That was supposed to take me all along.