the torturer

please,
don't - torture yourself about me
there is nothing in love
but a dream, but a
stone

made of through-and-through, solid
from grain to core:

it's as simple as that.
You will need nothing more as it flies,
flung

through element air - to the fire of your skin,
of your skull

it has struck

such spark -
that the world of your eyes has gone black

consequence. Hung upon
- what a streak!

of
bad luck
that

I never did mean

to be done.