Your razorblade eyes shredded my skin, strip by strip—
slowly, until nothing was left but a cobweb
of lies, filmy curtains that you can still see through,
You sawed my cranium open, too,
and wormed your fingers under the cap
to exploit my weaknesses,
to mock me,
to pour melted rainbows (fresh from my premature dreams),
onto the black and white bowl of my skull.
What’s the use of poetry
when you can still decipher every vague word
I scribbled in a kindergartener’s cacography?
I abhorred your faux empathy when I thawed,
when I eddied into a begging mess at your feet.
Then you showed me the why’s;
undid the secret buttons and let your misleading cloak flutter to the floor,
unzipped the fragile bag of skin, that thin piece of trifling toy.
We were soul-naked.
Only then did I see
the mutual annihilation we shared
for standing where you should be
was a mirror of what you just did to me—
only the characters reversed roles.
I know a losing battle when I see one;
you won ours,
but you should’ve tasted it—
succumbing is just as sweet.
(Note: I wrote this poem originally for The Lyceum Independent Sentinel. It was extracted from an early fanfic of mine but was dedicated to a real person, B.S.)