This conflict burrows inside of him

I watch it

fuming

and

flaming

against the ancient walls of this cathedral.

He stands

as though I was listening

but by then I was silent

gone

pulled off to the side by that other boy that I loved

and contemplating

my next verse.

Why does he do this?

Sprout

like a drunk

with giggling words

and sanctions that he feels

are lovely to woman

and me

his dotting angel

smiling at the aftermath.

He's blistering now

but I don't care.

I took a step away

came back

and said more.

I love it when its like this

ruff

and tumble

sadness.

I love the rush

of letting it all out

and knowing that for once

he's really listening.

He forgot

about what I wanted out of all of this

so I remind him

by running away.

I love to talk to myself

and formulate my next plane

this next faze of chaos.

I love it when its like this

voices raised

and hands ready to strike me

I love knowing that he would

bleed me dry

in these moments

it makes it less hard

to say these things.

Conflict

is our blood.

Argument

is our family.

Fear

is our love.