Weapons Drawn

Your side, my side:
definitive lines in the ground
Fingers crooked in eternal condemnation
every weapon drawn
What should be safe haven
is our own personal war zone
Who threw the first stone?

The Thought

Can't shake it --
thoughts anchored in my brain
taken refuge under the skin
swimming inside every blood vessel
toxic
Want to hide it --
words are all betrayal
voice dissolving into whispers
easing into soft consonants until
silent