This isn’t just dark poetry. It’s a massacre in verse — and the victims are the unhappy who loved too much.

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Go and kill them, kill them slowly or kill them fast;

kill them with your abject disinterest and disregard

Kill them for they forgive you their very own murder;

kill them for their hearts are now too badly scarred

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Go and kill them while they are still awake or asleep;

kill them with your bitter tears or your divine smile

Kill them for they risked thinking of the impossible;

kill them for they for once dared to dream awhile

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Go and kill them without any guilt or even a little doubt;

kill them with your characteristic bland indifference

Kill them, for they already hate themselves too much;

kill them for they have no great desire, no preference

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Go and kill them with your burning, blood thirsty, lust;

kill them with a dark vengeance seething in your heart

Kill them for they themselves beg for this final end;

kill them for self-hatred, too, is sort of an unusual art

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Go and kill them with either your swords or words;

kill them with no grey regret and no guilt whatsoever

Kill them for their cold hearts are no more throbbing;

kill them for they are broken, and are surely dead forever

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Go and kill them, though killing them is no fun at all;

kill them, for they won’t be able to either resist or react

Kill them for they dared to love too much like fools;

kill them for loving only one, was their very final act

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Go, deliver the blow and kill them before it’s too late;

kill them without even a sliver of sympathy and kindness

Kill them, for they want to now sleep and rest forever;

kill them for they are tired of all this hollow sadness