Swords

 The raw leprosy of winter outside, inside; the dreary light and bloodless blinds closed. There are two Indian doe eyes that are angry with me. Hateful and permanent now. No different from rotting stables, the abstract contrast of beauty.

I had to take the swords you were sticking in me and eviscerate you with them. I didn't want to win the argument because I knew it would be nothing but cinder and ash when I got done. You brought out the lava, the destroyer of destroyers. I am unbearably unhappy with or without you, I am blamed for emotions and feelings that I often wish I had. 

So here we are, a lightly bruised author and a crushed grape. I chewed you up and spit you out. Enjoy your unblended shadows and ruptured world today, I'll enjoy silken water and the knowing that you'll see great suffering and in that suffering, you will be happy, in endless and eternal sorrow, seek happiness.