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Not all fights are fought with fists
Or won with weapons of convention
Some are started by snide remarks
That lodge themselves between the ribs
Just scraping at the tender things
That we keep so well hidden…
Fostering suddenly shed facades
Of ethical pacifism
The right to bear oral arms
And the right to retaliation
To resort to intangible items
More burdensome than any boulder...
More crushing than any mace quick we were to resort
To the viral agents of verbal warfare
Those...the most common of any household germ
That no solvent could ever truly kill…
Far less by the hurried scrubbing
Of the of dirtied dinner plates
That clashed and clanged in the kitchen
Not nearly as often as we did

And the living rooms
That were once our only collective refuge
From a sickness that spreads with such speed…
Now that it no longer faces the inhibition
Of a well placed kiss that begged forgiveness
They are dying with every pathogenic condemnation...
And now our corporal crimes
All call for the capital punishments
Of slammed doors that would shake the shingles
Of a broken home of sticks and stones
Where words are worse than any wound
Inflicted on the skin

We drew swords and duelled about this house
Jabbing and scratching and gouging and slashing
Exploiting the vulnerabilities divulged in confidence
Unseating the scabs the had finally formed
Silently bearing the biggest battle scars
Which exist only beneath the densest bone…
The curses that accompanied conflict
Become so cold and common place
And it was all so insanely inane

We knew of the path, this road...
But our tongues persisted to injure
Without wait or relent or reason...
Until everything you dared to touch
Or ventured to even voice
Seemed booby-trapped
By the spears of insensitive insults
And I became bathed in your rage
As I found fault in the most trivial of things...
Soiling the drapery patterns with invisible essences
Erecting spontaneously these invisible divides
Of, "What is your, is yours
And of what is mine, is mines."

And though when the battles did not rage
We rested in the same quarters
On the same bed...
At the arrival of each witching hour
Wrapped tightly together
Flesh meeting flesh
At the most awkward of points
In the same lifeless lilac sheets
That I loathed without real reason...

…we couldn't be more distanced
Than we already made ourselves

Not all sorries are earnest apologies
But my concealed tears are truly sincere
They stain this pillow as I look upon
Your frigid shoulder in compunction
As they reflect the light of the street
That strays through the window
Into an unexpected, gloomy dark
That's allows this daily death
In turn for every dawn that's a darker day

And as I cast my eyes
Down your fading contours...
....I so miss your stupid smile

Alex, The boy full of ideas

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The following comments are for "The War of Words"
by amusedlilboy

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