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.