Manipulation

Silver thin, sharp, curved to a point
Ready to be used right
Fits so readily in my palm, begging
"I promise to be light."
Do not speak, gentle blade for your words are manipulative.
"Oh but you know my motive well,
Follow me, follow me,
Follow me to hell."
Hell is far, but let's pursue
Tell me the way,
For you're one of few.
"Get dressed now, we'll go for a walk
Before the hour of twelve strikes clock."
The silver man whispers to my ear,
"The path to the dock, near the pier.
Step out on the dock, no worry at all,
Against the world, we can stand tall!
Now take my hand and lift me to shoulders,
This will be quick, all pain will be smouldered."
Into the water his body fell;
Another victim, a new story to tell.
The End

2 comments about this poem Feed