It leaks
From the thousand wounds within my heart

It leaks
In the form of ink from your last letter

You stabbed me in the eyes
With your poison pen
The pen is mightier than the sword
I see by your rapier words

In your misplaced wrath
You grasped the snath
And laid me low like leaves of grass
And that's wit bitch, not Whitman

Not sealed with a kiss?
Or with the kiss of death perhaps?