The Dagger
He is not dead — he is just away” — J.W. Riley
Betrayal is often so funny
Growing from some perversion of love.
So tell me, lover
how much did you love me
when you plunged that knife
deep in my spine.
Paralyzed,
a brackish coughing
and a gurgle replace words
as the comfort that I once found in your eyes
slowly fades as I see my own startling reflection.
You laugh at my misfortune
“How come every time this happens,
I just fuck things up for you?”
I stifle a laugh, choking a bit
As if I haven’t repented enough for you.
That blade grips flesh tight
so you come back to twist your steel
robbing me of any peace
that I may have found
in accepting my fate.
Whispering to me
comforting me.
Tranquilized by the sound of you
speaking to me?
Every little piece of advice
is like celestial truth.
I cherish it all
but what is this offered as?
An olive branch?
Reparations?
I get lost in your voice,
tethered to every word
and allowing my imagination to run away with it
for a few moments
before you gift me again.
I missed it.
I imagined lifetimes with your voice alone.
Now, I only wish for a lifetime
free from you.
I die anyway.
This is your blade.
Maybe repentance was never an option,
it was just to let my guard down.
My love turns to rage
All those promises I made
could have been broken
to give true justice
as equal weight to the war
but I leave you with a parting gift.
I smile.
I will be the man of my word
the way you always wanted me to.
I remember the days where you’d twirl the knife in your hands
spinning clean cuts across my face,
bleeding out
and how you would lick my wounds.
It felt so good
to be healed
I forgot you ever cut me in the first place.