“I don’t love you,” I said
Staring down at her fragile state
My eyes looking deep into her dull brown eyes
Piercing her soul
In one swift motion
I gently press the tip of the dagger
Unto her chest
I lower myself
and whisper
"And never will.”

They might make me an angel
But I will break my own halo
And tear off my own wings
Just so I can burn in hell with you.

Her smile,
I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground.

Her eyes,
I'm sure, shone hell even brighter.

Her lips,
I'm sure, produced waves enough to destroy the graves.