The way you talk at me,
filling the air with noxious doubt
shrinks my shadow.
Around us billow
clouds of distrust
tainting every
free breath I take

I step away

In your eyes, dimmed
by pained misconceptions,
I am a shell
to be filled with dark, twisted
ideas and plans
to be contorted and
mislead down
vine encrusted
paths to nowhere

To you I am a
follower of men
supple to their whim and fancy
susceptible to every
lash of the whip

Heed me.

I don’t need a strap
my mind is the scourge.
The indelible etchings
I leave on a soul
are borne from
my licks of flame
and the parlance
I speak.

I may be bathed in swaths
of shade,
and barely visible to your
naked eye

But I am a thin ray of
unafraid of ominous circumstance…

bidden circuitously
into the wild

and there I remain
with a
flog of wit,
and a truncheon of
for the untamed things

I am the ringleader.