Why must you insist upon
Setting me alight?
You spit flames
And complain of how it burns your throat

How dare you lay so languidly
Sprawling across white sheets
And feign the sorrow of a faded silver statue
You spill across me
By virtue of a withered scarlet rose
Tearing scratch marks
They drip your inky blood

And what right have you
To turn your head
And insist
You love me after all?

So if you love me
Let me dry my eyes