caught

The look of disgust

dripped from your eyes

but i was trapped

and he was lost

my breath caught

my gasp too soon swallowed

shame shot through my senses

but i was held in place

and he stayed lost

 locked

in and out

the un-rebel

no kind words
await the ill-honoured
un-rebel.

no praise, or applause
or laurels are
deserved by he.

a lament, a tirade
a lengthy convoluted complaint
are better suited for
he who plays the role
of the nonchalant saint.

all his passiveness
filled in neatly
into whatever space
pride left
when it was
scooped out
and left to simmer
in indignity.

a doormat is he
yet the stomp-trampling feet
leave tainted and dirty.

an odd duck perhaps?
befuddled about which
pious path to choose?

no,
just callous
and quiet
and with
nothing to lose.