Dishonesty Dishonesty to those you love, comes From dread of that old nag Known as criticism harsh, and felt as needles through A heart; which has no better thought or sense: Than to bleed it's tears and take offense. Indeeed what would they think of me, if I let one heart leave barren mine. A naked heart seems strange to me In that I've never stripped it clear; of all these monsters which appear. I'm not about to let them out, some things are better left alone. Safe for the monment from the doubt; which rips into my tender bone. They haunt me with their rude intent, these secrets that I hold so dear. Yet to release them would not be wise For when you live in fear, my friend, you esteem Your lies.