My finger lingers
Over the delete button.
One little caress, a mere press
And the process
Will be complete.

The call button.
Am I a glutton
For the fire
With a desire
To burn on a pyre
Of my own making?

Heads shaking
I see
Telling me
I need to be free
Of thee.

One final spree
For you and me?
I imagine the glee
In your eyes
Where no pitty lies.

The smile
Of the Cheshire cat vanishes while
Only a thin lipped grin
Of distaine remains.