Blade in my hand.
Eyes on you.
Feet planted on the ground.

You come running at me.
Not knowing what's about to happen.
Then suddenly blood spatters.

My hand's on your shoulder.
The blade in your torso.
As your white shirt turns red.

I tell you I'll take it out.
That it was only an accident.
But instead, I twist.

And watch your pretty little self
Fall to the ground.
Writhing in pain.

What's scary is that I don't feel anything.
Not pain, not guilt, not fear, nothing.
Hell, I barely even care.

I laugh at your cries for help.
I've killed you, now.
Twisted the knife and watched as you fell.

~

Chaos can be controlled.
Calm cannot.
So, the calm before the chaos
Is scarier than the chaos.

~