When I was younger
I used fists
Instead of words
Pummeling
Pounding
Breaking
To show how I feel
I continued this
As days
Melted into weeks
Blending into months
Years
Until I stumbled upon
The pen
The perfect conduit of expression
In my personal opinion
Refined
Polished
Not sharp
But sharper
Gliding with grace
Drawing conclusions
Imaginary lines across
Your face
Stabbing you
Not inadvertently
But injecting the truth
In a convenient little vial
Only enough
But not enough
To keep you wondering
Watching
Mesmerized
Sitting at the edge of your chair
Alert
Anticipation
Coursing through your veins
Don’t look away
You never know when
I will pull the trigger
Unsheathe my knife
And glide tainted rivers
Spelling out everything
And nothing  
The worst’s still yet to come
Who knew something so innocent
Could prove so lethal?