A slow violence of words
This injurious game you play
Spiteful syllable strings
Arranged and tied into weapons

The incisions of your tongue
The slashing
The deliberate cuts run deep and wide
Whatever carved the pedestal you occupy
Was set on this resulting divide

I see through your vain pretence
The veil of you has been parted
Pure and fair you fly on wings up high
Pharisaical
You are faultless

Oh all the wounds I expected
Heartbreak, bereavеment and despair
I nevеr saw these coming
The gashes of your betrayal