I dread the unsaid
which edges on your lips,
sweet, sweet poison;
I drink the lies you feed,
the deceit wrapped
around your eyes, almost mocking.
I hear the rumbling
of storms, threatening;
and I stumble to contain the wildness,
which crashes, almost colliding.
I deviate from the notion
of decisions being made,
my silence considered acceptance;
I must be demented.
Experimental. Just letting out my thoughts and aversion towards life and decisions being made, especially for the weak(er) sex.