I showed her the poem that damns me,

that I cannot and dare not

ever publish

because by doing so, I consign you to death.

Nothing as brutal of actually placing your head upon the block

and watching the sliver of finest steel slice

through what remains of your ego-driven soul,

nor fastening the knot close to your throat

and watch you dangle forever,

your toes sliding across the floor

in quick rapid movements,

refusing sleep, refusing to ever keep

still…

I will have killed you to save the world its

sentimental fury and my aching heart

from ever acknowledging your deceit,

for once the air of your life at that moment

is breathed, the lungs will be forever tainted.

Ian D. Hall 2015