coup de grâce
Tethered to the wheel of our despair,
I turn in vicious circles under your
watchful gaze. Your words make my
eyes tear, so-called blows of mercy
pounding my battered flesh.
I still feel your hatred upon my bones,
taste anger upon my lips. There shall
be no reprieve for loving you to death.
Stretched beyond my limits, I’ll shatter.
Unlike St. Catherine, bent yet unbroken
on the wheel, but perished by the sword.
My neck desires such a loving blade
Copyright © 2010 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved