The Faultless

A slow violence of words

This injurous game you play

Spiteful syllable strings

Arranged and tied into weapons

Weapons

The incisions of your tongue, the slashing

The deliberate cuts run deep and wide

Whatever carved the pedestal you occupy

Was set on this resulting divide

I see through your vain pretence

The veil of you has been parted

Pure and fair you fly on wings up high

Pharisaical. You are faultless

Of all the wounds I expected

- Heartbreak, bereavement and despair

I never saw these coming

- The gashes of your betrayal