No, you are not the knight in shining armor.
Where is your horse? You raced it to its death;
you raced my heart. There is a lifeless lump
inside my chest, just where your scorching breath
my skin remembers still. There are more
years for me to trudge, to crawl, to slump.
No, I am not the princess in the tower.
Nor is a dragon there to be slain.
Though far more pleasing sound in my cries
you want to hear, instead of pain,
and bitterness, and bile; your eyes devour
‘All hope abandon’, written in my eyes.
A ruthless jouster, you stabbed me in the back,
your lance still bearing my token of affection
So, slam the door shut. Leave me on the rack,
and on the hands of time – a kiss of recollection.