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Spurned, Settled

Spurned

Let your mouth,

Be not my end,

But my shield,

For my wounds have bled enough,

From which your sword spurns.


Here is a hole,

To which you have widened,

Your aim,

Unable to see your crimson sword.


Hasten your steps,

Give me a blow

To which you make my end,

At which I may take great pleasure,

For death is perhaps,

Easier than life.


Settled

Aw,

Here you are.

Ready to stir-

My settled mind.


Disjointed bow,

Slithered tongue,

Uttered vows,

Broken lips,

Fallen to-

The cold floor.


Tis you that stole

The fluttered red,

Which you made

More sweet

Than foul.


Take that which you will,

And leave that which you should.

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