Bad Blood

Bad blood runs through us, through the tension in the air, through the diverted eyes and the eerie silence. No words necessary. Stomach is a bottomless pit of resent and possible guilt on the other side of the battle field. Jokes untold, lips share the taste of the same partner one the loved, the other the loving. The past and present, the possibility of future lingers just like the bad taste of back stabbing. We bite out lips and hold our tongues steady, they keep our secrets, our harsh words, our weightless apologies and notions to raise white flags. A civil war in a sense, scramble to recruit your men. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, friendship for a friendship, spite for spite. A loss. A stalemate. Stubbornness dosed in flammable awkward silence. We're never alone, always filled with someone else. This will climax, just strike a match.