Serene, ou pas,
i sit, a wilted flower,
covered in surrender,
one
last
kiss
of life before i die;
a goodbye,
in so many subtle words,
and end
to this long-extinguished daydream,
platonic love
embedded in your innocence.

your honey-sweet affection
for me drips with stinking lies,
one blind oath after another
when you swear your
sickle-cell anemic love,
empty words, a fickle change;
you replace me
and insist
that i must love you too
someday.

capricious child,
you throw a hollow vow at me,
and beg love
at my feet
when all the while you seek another,
a plastic rose,
thornless,
to replace my own perfume
because you have to bleed to get it.
are not the rose's sharp defenses
part of its earthly charm, and magic?
but no-

a child like you, lost pup,
has not yet learned
the power of its masochistic beauty;
you muster only
courage enough
to pluck away that plastic counterfeit!
so be it, then,
but do not seek
my preference nor my love,
for to an indecisive brute like you
i will be nothing.

~for a spineless traitor~

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