The Leiry Loop

Bitter Almonds

Do not stare at me, with your eyes
filled, seething, with the blackness
that first corrupted my soul
and ripped it to shreds.

Look away—
you could not, I know, but still—
I beg of you, look away.

Pray, do tell, with your silenced lips,
the words I yearned to hear that very night
when you allowed yourself to be consumed
with the fabricated lies you had woven.

Your cup is in pieces,
as my heart may very well be
while I gaze at your white skin that bewitched me
like a potion brewed to perfection.

The flame, long been extinguished in you
is still burning in mine—I am in heat,
yet you are already cold
and as I steal your first and last kiss, I take in
the familiar
bitter almond scent.