By Allie Marie
Your fingertips clench against your fists
so hard I’d think they’d nearly break.
To retain control, one must compose
a thunderous rage or so you seem to say.
The skies fall in.
I won’t play your victim.
I won’t take your clouded lies
as fact and truth.
I cannot think
your voice is tight
beckoning through the hallow night.
in my head
you become my closest friend.