Come over here.
I’ve noticed your lurking, and your inquisitive ear.
I know you’ve been hearing, and then passing on,
Things that are personal;
My individual song.
I know not if I’m angry, or immersed in distrust,
In observing you spreading my truth like you must.
But as you flitter about between rooms and through doors,
You scatter those eggshells, now we tiptoe ‘cross floors.
I can’t tell if you’ve finished, or yet to be done,
In your pursuit to make me public enemy #1.