Loot
So she dug up my soul –
I have a price on my head –
she pulled it from my skull
because of what I said –
Quoting Aristotle –
in accordance with virtue –
she showed me my old failings
as they formed a ragged queue
Jealousy and mistrust
once mine to sculpt with ease –
I’d struck at our confidence –
I’d cut her blood with tears
She placed her prize on scales –
held high by a blinded hand –
and claimed the inside of my head
was hers to now command