Betrayal sits like pebbles

settled at the bottom of

swamp water.

Thick with mud and muck,

caked with anger and regret.

I would cry out,

were my tongue not cut out

by the edge of your rusty dagger,

but I am too busy

bubbled over in regret.

Why am I still here,

boiling over?

Why is waiting

all I can still ever do?