Put the razor away

 The cheat insists the game was fair
Right after you find that you've lost the game
And paid on the bet you didn't know you'd made.
You've lost your hold on the smallest share
Of joy, you stagger under a load of blame
That he won't own, for a soiled maid.

Now be warmed by angry fire
And furious edged and spiteful dreams
Imagine flows of his guilty blood
To stand in place of your real desire
To see his life pour out in streams
Drowning your pain in a crimson flood.

Only stay from murder tonight
And give yourself some time to heal.
These wounds are new and terrible
In your new-found knowing sight,
But the best use for your youthful steel
Is to keep to life---it's bearable.