I regret to inform you I can no longer take the pain.
I can no longer bear the secrets I’ve kept so long in shame,
pretending to deny their existence, to deny their growing strain.
Best be cautious, love.
Your ways are gaining fame.
So bend your lovely lobes this way, my dear
I confess it now for all to hear:
There was a little bat who hissed into my ear,
Preaching of a gentle lady she did claim
Who spet poison, who spet bile meant to stain
With every whisper of my name;
Of my shoddy word-smithing and my deranged gait
Of my countenance, of my forthright demeanor,
Apparently worthy of her hate.
All the while, she’d smile when I was nigh.
Her eyes wide to beguile, her tongue polished to shine
I too saw her charms and therefore was blind
A self-crafted sophist so perfectly refined
Each falsehood a fact, and each truth a lie
Yet as I depart she doth of me deride.
And I know not from whence this hatred came.
Or what had she to gain.
Jealousy, to ruin me, or boost her self-esteem
Only that it rips me in twain.
Wary I grew of your charades
As desperately I tried to watch you fade
To tell my soul you sought to maim
That I myself was not to blame
Alas, my efforts! always in vain.
So to you, dear lady, now I say:
Good bye, forever more.
I will no longer be the rug at your door
the willing target of your scorn.
No more shall I feed your crooked ways.
So to your knees, dear lady, and prey:
May you never be the victim of your own game.