The Woman

Stab her from afar.
Spray your poison from a type-written jar.
Does it help your pain,
to attack the weak?
Does the decaying face
glow better when you lie awake,
instead of calm asleep?

How could you write
words of hurt,
to one who you don't know?
Through love?
Obsession?
The anguish question.
Is cruelty just a single blow?
Not at best,
but it is then at its most hollow.

The perfect love, that perfect glow,
is saved for those we hardly know,
and fight we must to hold it so,
to grasp in paranoid desparation,
that dream that we control.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.