Untitled... Poem by Michael Douglas

You don't exist to me anymore
And now my life is on course for the world's slowest suicide
I placed the knife in your hands, I opened up my shirt, I positioned myself so that you could hit my vital organ....

And I don't think it will ever beat again

The taste is sour
The mind is plagued with photographic memories of betrayal

But yet I remain only bitter to myself, bitter than I've allowed you to feel sweet as I exalted you above my purpose

My routine battered
I sleep alone
The tears are crystal clear that can only stain ones heart

The blood boileth
The pity remains