Scribed into bones,
Your bitter words.
Etched, marrow-deep.
Bloodied pen of yours,
Drawing sanguine ink,
Straight from the veins
Of ruptured heart.
Tasting cut sweetness,
That falls on your lips.
Blessing them vermilion,
Poured like wine from
A core depleted.
Sustainable agony,
Yet enough is not
Good Enough.