Truth

Stifling is the air that remains stale. Continuously giving off a misfit of breath. Like a hard-old glass of unfermented ale. Hard to digest is the truth that leaves your lips. Nothing but knives slicing my flesh. How hard is it to gather the words that will describe the measure of unfounded treasure that will never be uncovered by me? Never to be set aside from the rest, but always counted out. For never could leave far from disbelief a shadow cast with great doubt.