Bridges and rivers, mountains and passes jagged and steep,
Streams of molten death, crevasses waiting for me,
Won't keep my eyes and mouth, muscle and bone, my Self
From coming to kill you, Iyenna, I promise this, listen well
Written from my blood as pact, Forged from hate to pen and paper,
I've been wronged on all accounts, and it's your death i'll have to savor,
Now or later, please be sooner, I'll be fantisizing ripping,
Slashing, bleeding, gnashing, weeping, from your body i'll be sipping...
It's my broken heart you'll pay for.
Now you owe me breathlessness.
This blade will do just what it's made for.
Swing sweetly still, sink deep the razor.
It's my heavy heart you'll cry to.
Now you'll see my depth in death.
This day will do just what it's made for.
Rise and set, your life I will cradle.
In post-script, write I will of Truth,
The boy you keep, love, and protect.
Him I will slit, from toe to tooth,
And lay him stretched more feet than eft'.
You will not stop me. My broken love have given me purpose.
I will destroy you.
(From the book, "The Boy and The Sword" by Tres Page)