and choose to distrust them instead.
The tip of the tongue cannot tell you
What manner of state rules the head.
We're all writing poetry by flashlight,
But they won't have the lights when
it's read—
and that goes for the upright and
honest,
Merely misunderstood or misled.
What of those who would greet you like
family,
and under their breath wish you dead?
They slither like snakes through the
office,
But sleep unperturbed in their beds.
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