You say you want closure
which I believe
because I see the gleam of the bitter dagger
gripped in your smile.
What was it that sent you here?
What vendetta?
Was it because I survived the hit-job
of your fickle heart?
I do believe you want to bury the past
which is why your army is dragging
that empty coffin around.
You expect me to just lay down in it
for my post-mortem parade.
I survived the last assassination attempt:
the one when you said
“Let’s just be friends.”
I let the poison run its course
and lived through the chills and the fevers,
developing an immunity (and a maturity)
until I could fall in love again
with someone else, forging
an alliance to better my kingdom.
That was a grand betrayal to you, I suppose.
And now you come back
with your cloak-and-dagger intentions,
hiding your desire for
regime change
behind dove-and-daisy diplomacy.
All of your red flags
are warning enough.
Your scarlet bannermen
cannot hide their poised spears.
The peace you offer to me
is the grave.
Tyrant-hearted, you try to sway me
with the kiss of death.
I signed your previous treaty
where carrot and stick were one and the same,
and found myself victim of a coup
This is my life, not yours.
I will not be made a puppet king
of my own kingdom,
nor will I be dethroned.
Stop this imperialistic foray,
Bloody Mary.
Take your red bannermen
and go.
Whereas you employ
spears and lances
to run me through, yet again,
my new queen uses
needles and thread
to stitch the hole shut.
She has given me closure.
I need no other kind.

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