Not Even Death Could Swoon Him
Living to love?
Stab me swiftly
In the heart. Where
He watches as its
Red empties
Itself.
The meat tastes like pity.
So he smiles at me with pity,
Holds my hand with pity.
I am his,
In pity.
Enough.
A past perpetuating pity
Has no future for a love.
Remove His scythe.
And the fool, one day, will restore
Until I hurt for his love, once more.
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