Caressing a wild bloom, I caught my hands on your thorns.
You acquired a taste for my blood in this way.
It filled you with revile and insidious scorns.
You now lust for my slow decay.

I remember your thorns drive deep into my skin.
You banked on the fact that your vicegrip would take.
Patiently, you waited for your poison to set in.
I was ensnared as though by a snake.

Your disdain flows like toxic waste in a river;
Oh, how it moves through my veins.
I look at my flesh and your finely carved slivers.
I can’t count the ways you shape these pains.

In time, I began to wither away.
You caught sight of my death throes.
You were a predator, and I, naught but prey.
The weak suffer and that’s how it goes.

Sharp is the sting of the taste of vitriol in my heart.
If only I could purge myself and begin anew.
In this slow dance to destruction, we both play our part.
To die of this venom would not be undue.