Tread
softly, the ice is thin
why
lie when there's nothing to win
Head's
filled with negativity again
eye
to eye, a shit eating grin
Unsaid
words echoed within
implied
what's felt is a sin
Denied
pleasures of the skin
widespread
frustration settled in
Dead
man's waltz on a violin
reply
sarcastically, backhand to the chin
Red
stained floors of the loony bin
dry
eyed until the tears begin
Copyright
© 2015 Patrick B Vince
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