Her voice, a blade wrapped in velvet sighs,  
Cutting through the softest parts of me.  
Each word, a storm behind her once loving eyes
Unveiling skies where sunlight dared not be.  

She mocks my pain , twists every grimace ,  
A dance of words with poison on her tongue.  
I, the puppet, trapped in misery,  
While she, untouched, from icy towers sung.  

How cold her gaze, how sharp her gentle scorn,  
I stand as ash, where once a flame was born.