Attempt to soothe
with your sterile voice.
Reach with your pale hands
and try to caress me.
Say that you know
this searing pain,
and I'll be thinking all the while
that you haven't the slightest notion
of how your words are like daggers
twisting in my chest.
Turn the blade
and smile at my screams,
Watch me as I perish,
as the scarlet rushes down.
I choke on my blood,
exhaling my life,
and you kiss my lips,
my poor, shredded, bleeding mouth.
Your words are torturous,
harbingers of worse days,
lies about a nonexistent kingdom
that has no place in this world.
You are not a brave knight,
but you are a conqueror.
I am dying so slowly
from the wounds of your words.
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