All the old knives that have rusted in my back,
I drive into yours.
I knew this was coming,
so quit pretending,
saw the signs, knew what I would feel
and boy, I was right.
From beyond the grave of our friendship
you've struck a death blow.
When it breaks my heart
I'm guessing that's your victory?
There's malice in my solace
knowing she'll never be the first
and safety in my hatred
that sustains more than just a thirst
for revenge, for you, for time.
I'm lying on the floor
mere seconds before you kick me
when I'm down. Oh how I'm down
but salt will heal my wounds
and I'll breathe through tired tubes
with the driving force of retribution
lengthening each day.
I will not leave this world
I will not leave
until I see you hang.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.