Betrayal, this is not// Poetry, perhaps

I am no Judas

Nor am I treachorous Brutus

I do not seek you for an enemy

And not because you are my friend

I have my nemesis in me

rusty armoured and pale blue cloaked

and have no need for another

I am involved in a daily deathly struggle

with life and nothingness

I court love and pain and death

And weep for Keats and Eliot

I care not for your delusions,

your amorous aspirations

Really, I care one whit

As much as you'd like to believe

I am not the one between

you and your happiness

I stand between me and mine