Something made me rebel.
Perhaps I caught it in
the bitter sting
of doubt on your tongue,
or the sharp cut
of your narrowed gaze.
Is this all you see in me?
A deer frozen
in the headlights of your cold eyes.
You once said
I trail fear like breadcrumbs,
a walking victim complex.
But fear is a cage,
and I must tear myself free,
to be seen as anything
other than a hanged man
swinging beneath a darkened sky,
a sacrificial lamb,
led to a silent slaughter.