Your lacerating words

looks that DO kill

derisive scoffs

rip me to

unrecognizable bits

shred any

last vestige of hope

spit on my joy

proclaim me

worthless

meaningless

useless.

You turn to leave.

But wait.

A thoughtful pause

then a swift, disgusted kick

at the limp, silent form in the gutter.

More convincing proof

of your superiority, I suppose.

Sick satisfaction.