A/N: Please hold any complaints about the mismatched rhyme scheme and scansion. Hunter is a mercenary, not William Shakespeare.

Violins

A love/hate poem by Lance Hunter for Bobbi Morse, because I'm going bonkers floating around in this ruddy escape pod.

You didn't call. You didn't write
Instead you came like a thief in the night

You stole my heart (and my body and my job)
Because you don't know how to share, only how to rob.

You say you thought that I would leave,
But you're the one who jumped the fence.
I heard violins
But you planned violence
(Ha! Good one, Hunter.)

The violins are still playing,
But the audience has left the theatre in disgust
Because I keep forgetting
How many times you've betrayed my trust

And the sad thing is that I still love you, because I'm a mess.
But you're worse.
And you're going to pay for betraying (me) us,
Bobbi Morse!