First Degree
I murdered you.
I made absolutely sure.
I jammed the knife right through
The piece of my heart
In which you had chosen to dwell.
It's alright, I justified,
The act was clearly self-defense,
And I bled you out
Onto the sterile linoleum floor.
I took a rag, wet with tears,
And wiped your stain up off the tile.
I cleaned the blade,
Sewed up my chest,
And burned the evidence.
I got up the next morning
And scurried about the day.
I had forgotten you.
I had forgotten.
I had.
Now, who comes but another,
Trying his best to pick the lock
Of my heart where you kept your loot.
Slowly, ever slowly,
He clears away your lasting scars
And begins to store there
His own gold and precious treasure.
I hope, yes, I pray,
That I won't have to oust him too.