The Faultless

A slow violence of words This injurious game you play Spiteful syllable strings Arranged and tied into weapons Weapons The incisions of your tongue, the slashing The deliberate cuts run deep and wide Whatever carved the pedestal you occupy Was set on this resulting divide I see through your vain pretence The veil of you has been parted Pure and fair you fly on wings up high Pharisaical, you are faultless Of all the wounds I expected Heartbreak, bereavement and despair I never saw these coming The gashes of your betrayal