Truth

Words don't come easily,
I am afraid to speak.
I'm not yet used to the taste,
Of truth on my lips.
Can you imagine,
Telling lies like breathing in?
Can you sympathize,
With ink on skin?
The feel of sickness seeping,
The sound of mothers weeping,
The taste of truth,
So bitter on your lips?
I  want to tell you you are not alone,
But I am petrified.
Afraid that silence gives you space.
I waste,
In a moment,
That no longer exists.
Can you empathize,
With molten words,
And a throat so burned,
That every letter is heart ache?
Every breath a second take?
I'm afraid to speak,
Scared nothing will come out.
I am not yet used,
To the taste of truth.