I called you king and set your supper before you-
a feast of self unlike any I’d ever provided, staring down your cavernous appetite.
I called you god as the blood poured from my mouth, over my chin-
the dirty/red shock of it spilling across the pale of my throat.
I called you lover and set the room ablaze,
every step towards you burning the rest of the world away.
I called your name and watched you hesitate.
In the half-breath between awareness and agony
her axe fell through my throat.
I never called for you again.
I never called again.