You are no black widow, you are far worse.
No remorse nor will to better your ways.
You bruise and contort, cast off and coerce
Until another, unshaped, gives their praise.
I am torn more by your guile, not regret.
To lie through teeth much sharper than what's there,
Is riddling and insulting, just bet
I won't be here when your guilt's made aware.
You shrink my worth with my name in your voice,
To be unmoved by poor, swayed lives that prove.
Alone, you roam and give in to poor choice,
And desert the ones who swore were unmoved.
I've never seen one's mind so strongly strung,
And one's paltering heart so wrongly flung.