The knives of your
in the sheath of my back.
The wounds fester,
filling with pus and ichor.
Your pleas of innocence are futile.
I know your crimes,
as I do my own.
But whereas I sinned
by loving too much.
You sinned in betrayal and deceit.
And now a fire burns
Come close and feel its heat.
Come and taste the conflagration.
Let the tongues of flame bath your skin.
As mine used to.
Come embrace the child you have birthed.
What? You don't want
Another heartless bitch
who will not face that which she has wrought.
May your karma catch
up to you.
May you feel the pain you have caused.
May you be haunted by the demons you have raised.
Be damned woman.
May the plight of Lady Macbeth be yours.
When we made love,
did you imagine yourself with him?
Did you see his face in place of mine?
Did you fuck him
when you were being pleasured by me?
Were those his hands you felt when I touched you?
Was he in my bed on those nights?
In your treacherous mind
When I was loving you?
I suspect so.
I think so.
I know so.