Of a Minx of Machination

Sight lost,
Rage-red mist.
Masks.

Hurt.
Fiery liquid falls down
Smooth cheeks.
another knife to joinTheOthers
making its crippling place in a

pincushion heart
to avenge a wasting, faded corner
of a life
a stalking soul, an impending doom.
a shattered glass pane,
a bloody fist.
Irony of a weapon
from one heart into another
no more eyes
on fire
no more sable streams,
no more gloaming stressors.
a simple, sempiternal, exclusive existence
together.

desire the end