Treachery

Is the water streaming down my cheek, rainfall or tears? I lit your candle, only for me to see you extinguishing mine, I drank your melted wax from all that fire, sipped the word of treachery so fine, that I thought it was red wine. Like the burgundy tint of blood, your putrid red-lipped kisses stained like floods, and like of dog bites of a nymph nemesis, was it all done to rust my shining quill? And if so, how much words of ink, would be needed to fill? To fill your hollowed up minds with reveries of mine and bone cracks of unspoken thoughts inside your shrine, the same shrine when all words that you offered to me were lies, a double-edged sword, too sharp to cut me anymore.