He loves me, he loves me not__

You'd think you know someone
after living with them for
a few years. but, you'd be
wrong
to think such a ridiculous thing

For, who truly knows oneself better
than that person himself?

Years of loyalty and trust you give
to this person, but he takes that for
granted
Of course he would *snicker*

I have come to the conclusion
that all men are
deceiving
disgusting
dirty
liars.

Sitting by candle light
I stare out the rain-stained window.
It's pouring a monsoon outside
but I can see a faint outline of a figure.

Moments escape. . .

Tick. Tock. Tick.

The door opens behind. And there he is.

"You're late."

2:39 am

"Oh! You are awake..."

"Where were you?"

At work doing over time, he tells me.
Walking to him, I catch a scent of
lavender perfume.

Taking off his drenched coat, I can see
the side of his face in the dim candle light.
A red smear. A pair of runny lip stains.

That fool…did he think the rain would wash
away the evidence and leave it
unnoticed?

Strike one.

He sees the distress seeping into
my eyes, but I turn away.
I hold a goblet of red wine for him,
pricked with a touch of atropa belladonna.
Maybe…tonight is his time.

But, is it my place to decide
if he shall live or die?
Surely not…

He comes behind, and whispers
in my ear
'I love you'

Strike two.

I prod him to drink the wine
It's his favorite, so he does.
The bastard should have seen this coming.
Much time didn't have to
elapse for the poison
to take its effect…

His body turns numb
And does the muscles
in his face.
Slowly, he drops to the floor.
The crystal glass shatters
to irreparable pieces.

Oh, he's still breathing
mind you. He's just cursed
with paralysis.

He's a bit heavy to drag across
the floor and into our bedroom,
but I manage somehow.

On the bed, I set him. His eyes forced
to stare ahead and arms flung aside.
Sitting on the mantel
is the rose he gave me last night.
It droops with neglect
and the stem partially withered away.

I take its petals off one by one
and toss it around him as I slowly say:

"He loves me, he loves me not…
He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me.."

I chant this many times till the last petal
I hold in my hand and my lips whisper:

He loves me not –

Strike three.

Fate had his destiny figured out
It seems.

Taking the matches I set on the nightstand,
I pick one at random and glide it across its box.
A small flicker of light appears.

There he lies. Helpless and still.
I want him to feel this burn,
my sufferings.  

I bade a small farewell, and toss the dangerous match on the bed.
Its small flicker escalates higher and higher.
The fiery flames consume him, grabbing him in their anger.

Who knows what pain he's feeling
He can't even scream. Or yell for help.
I watch engrossed,
as the fire travels from his leg to his body.

Clouds of black smoke engulfs around me,
so I know it's my time for departure.
Looking at him one last time,
I see his body deteriorating.

Quickly, I get my raincoat
and battered umbrella, then head out
Locking the door behind me.

He  doesn't deserve to be in this world…
At least, not in mine.

…