Foot paths between the eyes
passing on secrets
sharing lies.
Where am I?
Stuck in the middle
unsure what to do
trying not to watch
the smug smiles
flash between the two
No whispers
nor scathing
nor laughing behind a hand
just looks
and smiles
that I don't understand.
Skin itches
with the looks of that
scathing gaze.
Her mouth curled
in to a tight lipped
smug smile
but of course,
moves when she whispers.
Always aware
of her sitting there
with the scathing glare
and that god damn
perfect hair.
She turns
as easily as a flower
does, towards the sun
as an eager reader
turning the pages
of their favourite book
as leaf on a branch
in a gust of wind.
She changes
like the seasons
adapting to whichever
situation suits her best
Being with certain others
and ignoring the rest.
She's your closest friend
the person you fear most
she has your secrets
in her lap
ready to spill
in one easy move.
Behind her back
It begins
Talking,
Cynics
Hating
I'm lucky that I haven't suffered this yet but I am friends with people it has happened to. Everyone seems to accept talking behind people's backs as if it's OK. Personally I don't like the feeling of people talking about me behind my back so I try not to do it to other people. In my opinion people need to be more open.
Behind your back
whispers begin
rattlesnake like
hiss
venomous words
stick to skin.
A hive of bees
buzzing
angry
building pressure
until something
gives
gets out.
The hiss
is now a shout
out of the shadow
in to the light
no where to hide.
The pack begins
to bite.
Prepare yourself
you're in for a fight.
