Thursday, October 24, 2013

Lost conflict

His silence angers me. 
And when they come by, 
his words drive me mad. 
No more poems for him, 
no more outbursts. 
Irritation simmers. 
This close to being tipped off, 
I notice he hasn't learned yet 
how to bite away a nail properly. 
I look up. 
Eyes braving to fake innocence. 
I look down. 
Footwear in colours 
I wouldn't dare mention together. 
He is a fool. 
I sigh. 
Just as he is effortlessly making his way in..

'You know, when I write, it..' 
'.. yeah, yeah, blahblah.'

I won't write for him. 

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