I once held everything in thrall.
They came, and took, and gave to you.
My finest things you don’t deserve —
I knew exactly what to do.
I carefully mixed the poison down,
distilled it, raised its potency.
I placed the poison in your drink
so stealthily, you did not see.
It looked so lovely, boiling there.
Your glass, a fine cauldron it made.
I reveled in the fantasy
of seeing the headstone at your grave.
I poured myself another glass
to reassure naught was amiss.
My toast and smile would dull the blow,
and blunt my poison’s deadly kiss.
And as I drank so deeply from
the glass I’d poured, my bitter wine,
I clutched my chest and realized
the drink that I’d poisoned was mine.
-C. G. Brown