ꨄ 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑ꨄ

Who would want this poison?

Thy luminous eyes and lustrous lips against winter's icy cries
has wrought and quenched within me as my once blazing light flickered and rot,
for envy bloomed where the modest ivy laid as the light then dies,
for all the years I sought for Youth's wine, thou now drunk with it and fraught,
"Oh! Who would want this poison?"

To tether on Envy's shattered glass under thy conscience withered,
the wine now reeking of thy spoiled scent, the wine once perfumed with Youth.
Yet lovestruck I was with thy naivety; thy spoiled scents n'er withered,
yet my dying soul, wrought now not the hatred for thou, but a ruth-
for who would want this poison?