A stab
With a serrated knife
She flicks her wrists
The blade twists
His intestines cut
He bleeds
The blood
Its warmth
Trickling through his fingers
He smiles and stares
Into her cold brown eyes
Her pupil dilates
He saw love
He smells fury
She withdraws the knife
Searing pain
His smile fades
His face pales
Her lips curl
Into a smile
A cold breeze
He feels numb
Sinking
His world darkens
He feels her breath
Upon his face
As her lips
Brushes his…..
Some people act like that - even in regular day to day conversations. One does not need a knife to do what you decribe....well done!!
zgłoś
thanks Raven... that is the freedom of the mind and poetry
zgłoś