Volatile

Temper, a hot thing, flares

dangerously.

I’m sure you can tell how

red your cheeks are.

Patience is a virtue you have

never grasped, and with

your bitterness, you attempt

to taint me.

I refuse temptation.

 

And, even as I speak, the

volatile volcano within you

spits at me hot words of

lava.

They burn me too much for

you to know.

Your tongue is the licking

flames of the fire.

I can never tell

when you are about to erupt.

 

I walk away, knowing that

you will never change.

Author's Note

The relationship between my sister and I was once a fragile, unpredictable thing. Back in the days where I hated her (we're on great terms now), she would always get mad at me. I would hate her even more for it. I would go on to write quite a few poems written about her. This particular one is for her.