There’s complexity in her silence.
Not something that I see,
More something that I feel.
The prickle of her mind,
Holds the intellect of chaos.
Her thoughts brush across my skin,
Hiding in the endless depths of her eyes.
Their fists are clenched,
Beating against the locked iron doors of silent lips,
Until they’re bloody ragged and sore.
Ambivalent she may seem,
But she burns with raging fire.
