Mercy

Blood on my hands,
and it's all my fault,
she waited at the door
knowing
I was always late.
I had to kill her!
scrutinizing the cracks,
in her paint.
I've been premeditating it,
for a while now.
"But wait", they said,
"you're getting older", they said,
and everyone needs to come home,
to a smile.
I threw caution to the wind,
and committed the great sin,
now the lady is free,
for a while.
She spinned and spinned
and to my great grin,
my guilt overcame, my beguile.

"Don't you cry?...don't the tears drop from your eye?"
"No" I said, "the pain sits in my veins, for a while"

I did not stab her from the front,
face to face, eye to eye,
I do not have, the stomach.
It was a slow drip of neglect
and pretend;
as her mouth watered,
mine dried,
and I drained her, of liberty.
Even at the end,
she shared,
Everything.
I had no choice,
but to oblige