You lay on the bed
with your identity
becoming one with
satin sheets. Turning
the winter white spreads
the color of newly
blossomed roses.

The stainless steal dagger
engraved beloved
inflicts agony
to your body. As the wielder
gives you anguish.

She left you with
a lick and a promise
not checking to see
if Death made you
it's slave. You cling
onto the cliff of life.

The wound
on your body could not
compare to the wounds
planted on your heart. She
always manipulated
your Achilles heel. Even now
at your brink conscious.

Your mind cried
but your heart whispered

How could you ever
Harm the woman that made
your body, your manhood,
and your heart
feel on top of the world?

You could not.

So lay on that bed
playing a losing game of
with death,
because you'll slip
with nothing but
a broken heart.