#ill-suited

Summary:

“So,” I said, “that was—okay?” Richard remained silent, blue eyes unreadable and glittering—like they’d been iced over. I fought the urge to start fidgeting with my suit lapels again. Was this an actual evaluation of my performance, or punishment for making him worry? If that was the case, I certainly deserved it. Thinking about that man—my biological father—was still enough to set my nerves on edge, and the upcoming civil service exams had only exacerbated the issue. To my beautiful boss’s credit, he’d endured days of interview-related chatter before he’d snapped and asked if I meant to interview under him, since I couldn’t seem to talk about anything else.

You wait and you dance. Practical chances Seemed out of place When romance Was a decision You could go ahead Then make with eyes Rolling over back ways Speaking in glances Whose urges turn primal Lust into disenchantment

Terror bearers made him scared Of confusion’s static regression A manic with erratic sensibilities Contrite to the bony lessons Brought in anti-social soundbites Controlling nothing’s remains Boding well maintained possibilities Caught beside the acting wheel Whose fruitless attempts to conceal The inevitable chain reactions Wearing and tearing memory Brought down by the scorn Some bastards are born with

Disgustingly robed from

head to toe in foul clothes of

stitched virulence brushed off

- 

on the crowd slipped beyond

with cheated strides towards

demonstrably, indefensibly

 -

inexplicable malignity set

to untie they united only

in name, and naught more, all

 -

for finer threads that could

grace such vile skin tomorrow

Spoke to my face at least not once Behind my back like a weakling And I trusted that enough To explain a portion of truth

I said it was a matter of style Over substance and I wore A suit far better than you Could ever dream of doing

You said I was a liar until You wore a suit that cost More than your rent – Stained it with ketchup