It seemed as if,
you fell into my blade.

Searing pain, screaming
my name.
Hand gripping chest, and finger
points to me.
I'm to blame?
I'm to blame.

Bitter.
Sweet.
Your eyes running,
while you stay stationary.
I lick your tears,
because...

I've waited;
menacing stares are dry,
there isn't need,
for moisture.
Solidity gone, against,
soluble grain.
I've waited for your tears;
I've missed them.

But in the end,
when your misadventures,
become takes of legend,
I will take pleasure.
A tale is a tale,
but a corpse is a tally.