Hate & Betrayal

Blood Debt

With all that I have done,

So much is owed to me,

Yet you have but wronged me.

Give me but another blow,

With which you may

Believe my end.

My gun is aimed,

Your head its target,

Without which your mouth is motionless.

Spurned

Let your mouth,

Be not my end,

But my shield,

For my wounds have bled enough,

From which your sword spurns.

Here is a hole,

To which you have widened,

Your aim,

Unable to see your crimson sword.

Hasten your steps,

Give me a blow

To which you make my end,

At which I may take great pleasure,

For death is perhaps -

easier than life.