the Siege of Stares
The air between us is a graveyard of things unsaid,
Thick with the ghosts of every lie we fed
To the hungry silence of this kitchen light.
You wait for me to blink. I wait for the fight
To finally find its teeth.
Your eyes are a mirror I refuse to break,
Reflecting the salt and the years of mistake.
The cowards’ peace is over; the truce has worn thin,
I am looking for the rot that lives under your skin.
No more polite nodding. No more scripted breath.
This is the moment of a thousand small deaths.
Fear is a dry throat, a hand starting to shake,
But courage is the fever that follows the ache.
I see the crack in your mask—that sudden, sharp gleam—
Where the truth finally punctures the hem of the dream.
We are anchored in gravity, heavy and raw,
Bound by a truth that ignores every law.
Hearts don't beat here; they hammer at the bone,
Two statues of iron, and neither is alone.
No words are required. The verdict is clear.
The only thing left is the man in the mirror.