Once we whispered from

under covers, love you, love you,

where now only silence

beds itself.

And once we smiled like

summer, love you, love you,

but now kings could use

ours faces to build castles.

One too many imagined slights

from me to you, and you to I.

One too many vicious fights

where no one lived, not you, not I.

We were fools,

now we're just alone on

the hill.

We should have stabbed at

each other; at least then we'd

have known what the

other felt.

And now we're alone, and weak.

No great victor, no great prize.

Nothing to show for the ones

we despise.