Our Last Supper

I've spilled my heart before you,

and you've ate it with a spoon.

I've given you food for though,

yet you've chosen my heart instead.

 

Stop eating and hear my voice,

those soft noises from your plate.

Your knife fiercely struggling

to break my spirit under your fork.

 

You like it rare, but I'm done,

well done with no blood of despair.

As your teeth slowly grind my meat

in my exit I'll have my revenge.

Author's Note

There are a few ways of getting this poem.
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Reviews

Great form, good choice of words, and well painted canvas...

There is frustration and anger in the message, which is well imparted as well.

A good write

[Beautifully Tragic xPoe..]

Just a couple typos. But good write, my dear friend! ;)