Lies passed on
from person to person
like an incurable pestilence.
You can try to rid yourself
of the burden of secrets,
but the words bubble up
like sour vomit.
Pass it on,
pass it on,
voices whisper inside
of hollow heads.
The smell of juicy,
fruity gossip clings
to the air.
It is tantalizing
but rotten at the core.

We are all pushed
by currents of suggestion,
so easily convinced
of the ruthless
and the faultless.
Our words turn
the eyes of the accusers
into hungry birds.
They peck into the backs
of classmates and friends,
searching for revolting worms
amid arms of glossy bark
but instead finding themselves
feather deep in betrayal.
Like Tantalus, some may never
touch their parched lips
to the cooling water of truth
and the fruit will hang tauntingly,
just out of reach.
But once set free, one must remember
that though its skin may be shiny,
it is rotten at the core
with ugly, foul rumors.