Zorro's Brand
How harsh it hurts, the sickle gash of your betrayal
carved like Zorro's brand into the hunger of my ashen face;
mutely it reflects its torture in every mirror,
mimes its rage and self-disgust,
this gaping wound of naked disgrace.
And now, yes even now, each time you haunt my eyes
I pray for your return, I wish you back with slavish greed
I bite the copper taste of blood into my tongue,
hold back the flood and hate myself,
succumb to wanton guilt and need.
I know you feel the same endemic agony and pain
splayed between the earthquake gulf of love and duty
and 'though you gave yourself away to his promise
still I stake a claim to your heart
for what we had was truest beauty.
The final card is yours to play and yours to play alone
to wipe away the brand of Zorro bleeding in the dark
for whilst it rests upon my brow it burns
a slothful death, this evil scar,
the cruellest question mark.
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