What's that?
Did it really happen?
I guess not, must've played out
that vivid act in my head, yet again,
where everything's so palpable.
That pang, that stab, that jag,
it hurt, every word
although self inflicted.
It burned, those looks of pure hatred.
It killed me, those fatal blows,
no matter artificial,
pseudo, invalid, plastic, made-up.
I'm envisaging it,
preparing myself for when it happens.
If it hasn't yet then it remains a detritus
of my own cynicism, my wariness
and of course my delirium.