“I had trust in you.

What did you do?

What did you do?”

 

It is a fire alight in his mind,

This betrayal of his kind,

And loathsome weakness to forgive

And put the past behind.

 

And what of her,

The delicate girl

Whose existence could exert

Such frantic pull

And madness imbue,

Shouldn’t he settle with that one, too?

 

They will rue, yes,

The lovers will rue.

 

It is an itch that he must scratch,

And so he’s weaker than he thinks;

For all his might, he can’t transcend

His rage and so the lovers will end.

 

His rage the lovers will end.