is there any worse
death
than that of betrayal?
any worse
injury
to the soul, the ego,
than a lie
told
over and over
as if it's true.
is there any less poison
than that of a lover
gone astray,
gone secret and cold
and yet still returns
each night
as if
things were fine.
find me a sharper
knife,
a more hot bullet,
an arrow more precise
and i will
say no.
not hardly.
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