You got reduced to another poem on my Google docs.
Believe me, I won’t even let the memory of you stay with me.
Don’t you think it’s a shame?
I keep the kindness you couldn’t respect in my back pockets,
and your deeds in the front.
Oh, dear. Vengeance is a sweet thing until it’s cast up on you.
I call it justice, what you call spilt blood on the spines of these books.
Don’t look at me like that;
you’re the one who made me stand on the precipice.
You’re the one who wielded the sword in my head.
You’re the one who tucked the gun in,
then why are you taken aback?
You taught me to always come back for revenge.
So now, when I’m here, no.
Don’t look at all the blood running down my temple.
Look at me and tell me why, out of all the people,
do you look like you didn’t see this coming?
Haven’t you heard?
It’s your own that kills you.
Because love’s nothing but poison.
It kills those who have it and those who don’t.
Don’t worry.
When it all gets reduced to ashes and flames,
don’t think it was in vain.
It’ll be a warm evening on a winter night
as I set what means everything to me, ablaze.
Well, what used to.
Don’t worry about the crime scene.
I was one too.
