The Silver dagger and the Oak

The smell of your death
Has not reached me yet,
But it will.
Soon Maggots and bacteria
Will return you to dust.

All you were and could ever be
dissipated into the atmosphere

Like your last gasp of air.
The surprised sigh of agony
As I plunged the silver dagger
Through your breastbone.
Sliding through your ribs.

They shall think it ritual
When they come.

Oh how I wish they would come.
Under this aged and gleaming
Oak tree I slump.
I remain, unable to flee or escape
& how shall I explain?
your fingers still laced in mine.

That I should love you so well
& yet loathe you so infinitely

If only I could express the complexity
of my heart and mind
But I will not forsake her
To a yelping, hungry media
That would feed on your corruption.
Unable to turn the lens
Onto their own bitter deeds.

NO, I can not allow the truth
to be known.

Rather would I hang
Upon my silence
Then tell them of the guilt of
your shame.
I hear them coming,
Sirens cutting like a
White hot blade
Through the still Autumn air

It is still warm
But you are not.

They are here.
May she forgive you.
For she'll never forgive me.

V.C Willow
17-07-11