with the same velvet voice that caressed

my mind so gently in the quiet blue night,

and filled the paranoid corners of my soul

with the taste of a feeling long dead,

he broke the cracked thread of trust

that had glassily formed in my heart

with the same gentle hands that kissed

my skin so tenderly in the azure of day,

and allowed me to feel a little of what

my jaded instincts had shielded me from,

he reached in to fan a fiery fire in a

soul pitted with mistrust and aged heartbreak

with the same silky look that painted my

soul from morbid blue to a fiery pink,

that allowed me to believe momentarily in

the sanctity of a genuine friendship and

the accepted existence of deeper emotions

he looked at me and killed me for my feelings