Spite

In the dark nights of passion

I am no longer her moon

I’m the dying star of her past now

She took my kingdom away

And choose her new king

I’m the beggar in her streets now

The cup we drank together from once

Is broken now

The wine of my devotion is sold cheap

In the tavern of her desires

I bite my fingers in anger

I howl in pain at nights

Morning I shout at myself to live

Evening I bury myself again

I’m the corpse of her forgotten desire

She buried me without a funeral

And never marked my grave