You held the blade of rejection
over the blackened scars of my heart
each night as I slept off the wine
hands were trembling with resistance
to your many wicked ways

I would have done it myself
if truth had a last name
and could see
thru the empty corridors
of my faded past
but it is beautifully sad
how long silence
can hold a note
in the dream songs
we used to sing

So there you lay
enchanted with loneliness
cuddling with fear
and the dying rose
pinned to the poem
folded into your pocket
is a painful regret
you should have killed me first