Quietus

I gave you the quietus

With my own bloodied

Bare hands

And though I

Regret it now

I can’t deny the pleasure

I felt

As my fingers

Groped at your throat

To close off

Your windpipe

To cut off

Your source of life

 

I gave you the quietus

But as I sit now before your

Still grieving family

I receive none of my own

They'd rather I rotted