Thoughts, Never Words. (Poetry Collection)

You.

You.

Oh, you.

You're the thorns to a rose

that prick my delicate fingers on as I stop

to admire your beauty,

the sticky sweet poison in which

you have slipped into my cocktail

that I,

lovingly made for

you.

Oh, you.

With the same hands

you used to hold mine,

stabbed. Me. In. The. Back.

Let the blood pour out of me

and watched as I fell

from your arms

to the floor.

'Best friends', you said to me.

I laugh as I remember, while I die.

'Bullshit'

Are my final words.