Though this isn’t blood you see,
you are taking every inch of me,
disintegrating my loving being
and turning everything
I ever was into a colder thing.

You preside over my demise
as you present courtly lies,
trembling with greed
and hatred for the parts of me
that you despise.

But, I do not die, nor do I rise, and fly.
I merely dissipate in smoking shades,
growing intangible in increments.
Till no one can see anything
of the man I used to be.