Revenge

The word tastes so bittersweet on my tongue,

Looks good on paper in an illuminated room.

I’ve perfected these plans ever since I was young

And you trapped yourself not a day too soon.

What do we have here? A cheap skin sack

Laced with a smidge of my own blood type.

A third rate man with a bow on the back,

Shimmery, yes, but never worth the hype.

So I look under the trembling, leaking lids,

Trying to make sense of the six years of pain.

Everything’s there, mental jitters and skids,

But I know how you love to show fake feign.

I pull your chair closer, I lift up your chin.

Your neck cracks in a despicable way.

The drops of sweat cover your grey skin

Therefore you’re aware I came to play.

But the moment I uncover my angry wrist

To scratch your sinful heart of teak,

The alarm punches my sleep with both fists

And I never get the revenge

I’ve been destined to seek.