I imagine hypocrisy tastes like empowered speeches
and lectures on the betterment for all.

It is the sweet zing of morality, high up on a soap box.
Over the tang of unfiltered cigarets
as you indulge in you dubious deeds.
Away from the eyes of Judgment.

Where the fault stems,
is from inside. It feeds and weeds
and eats us up. Twisted and bitter as it
tangles with good, and consumes into the nothing.

There are things I don't imagine
for they are the truths.
Behind grand ideals and fine words.
Or beneath the sour aftertaste of our guilt
we have created a personalized
lie.