you talk of your heart being torn out of its bony cage,
through breastbone and flesh and living blood, tossed aside

but this is a careful crushing of skull and vertebrae,
marrow sliding down cracked long bones glowing yellow-white through gaping muscle
fingers broken one at a time, innards stirred to soup and spilled
and this is lungs sliced by razor-sharp ribs,
brains liquefied to pools of gore and mangled thoughts
staring eyes - I know what you are doing

you speak of quick and painless,
neat hit to the vitals - you cry at mercy strokes,
too skilled at giving to others and taking none -

and I'm a bloody mess rotting in a corner,
an embarrassment to itself

forgive me if I forget to weep for you.