Whispers of Discontent

Two voices rise, a symphony of strife,

a blur of emotion spills through the cracks,

hidden beneath a facade, a daily life,

words laced with bitterness, drowning the facts.

I stand there, pinned against cold, cracked paint,

a witness to chaos, their hearts laid bare,

a quarrel that swings like a pendulum, faint,

swinging through silence, yet heavy in air.

Flickering shadows catch glimpses of rage,

a momentous waltz where they teeter and reel,

my breath holds its weight, caught in this cage,

fragmented tales that their walls can conceal.