Kill

I sit in my depression
a stagnant pool of blood
worried as always he'll see me
my shining knight of love.
I, too, was once a knight
I fought with him in wars
until they cut a part of me
and I had no will to live.
I did not want to love him,
I knew what that would do.
Love him I did, but remorse,
guilt, has found my heart again.
He speaks to me as I sit,
drawing in the drying blood,
my wings black as his are pale,
my angel knight from above.
How best to tell him what I know?
That together we will die?
From love's cruel tricks of insanity
and the warriors on other sides.
To him I flee in desperation,
wanting of his gentle love,
letting him see my oldest fears
and taking from his soul.
I fear that with my love I'll kill him,
like I have with others past.
I mentioned this to him today,
and he spoke not a word then,
just gathered me up in his arms,
saying those three little words,
whispering them in my ear.
My sadness will always plague me,
but to him by our love I am bound.
He sits by me as I draw so sweetly,
in that stagnant pool of crimson.
He takes my hand that laid so still,
promising me that him I will not kill.