A Sonnet to My Killer

There’s something about crying  
In the arms of the person who hurt you.  
If you were dying,
Would you crave the warmth of your killer, too?
Would your last breath
Be heavy with his name,
Though he was unphased by your death?
While you took the blame.  
Would you cradle his head
As he filled your wounds with salt
Or would you see red  
As he told you it was your fault.  
Would you still desire him so,
If you hadn’t let all the pain go?