Fire's Bite

The smile, that jeering expression,
so smug, calm.
Sickening, maddening. This will not end well.
Your hand on your hip, snotty, arrogant -
too much your pride overwhelms.

Another blow -
and again, repeating, falling,
bruises, scarring wounds,
bleeding. Red stains.
Must rise to the challenge... but fall -
slipping in my own blood.
How could you wound me so.

This was hopeless from the very start.
But I did not back down -
I knew. This is it.
The blade is held,
you ask, waiting, grinning,
anticipating.

"You always struck me as a Juliet type,"
silent horror hidden within -
the determined soul is fading fast, but fire has ways -
of biting last. "Or course."
The blade plunges in, but the fire flashes -
You leave me here, laying dead -
I leave you wounded,
to wish you were dead.