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Backstabbed
One minute I was smiling
Then howling in pain the next
As I felt the coldest shiver
On my body, a blow of the wind
I looked down
And saw the final proof
Of what had happened
When I chose to lock myself with naivete
In a room called denial.
There was a blade,
The finest tip of a well crafted knife
Rudely protuding from my healthy form
Laced dark red
It seemed to gleam with satisfaction
At the agony pictured on my face
I whirled around
And saw a contorted grin
Dreadfully complimenting the sharp blade
"It was you!" I cried out loud
"You whom I gave trust to,
"And this is what became of my trust?" I had screamed.
Sparked by the calmness of your complexion
Your well planned scheme.
"Don't you dare pin everything on me," you muttered
Then you painted out how I made you do this
Tried to get me to "reason"
...To blame myself.
I couldn't think straight.
My hand reached behind me
With a grimace, the knife was drawn
And for a few moments
I admired your handiwork
Your flawless dagger
Bathed in my blood
The rusty red you've been wanting to see
I'm seething
I waver it in front of you
And slide the sides gently against your throat
My blood in a line on your neck
Slowly
I clean the dagger on you
Getting slight satisfaction from your expression and
What's on your skin and shoulders
Till I push it into your hands
And I crumple, forgotten
Into a limp heap on the floor at your feet
My eyes freezed in an angry, cold, glare
My lips pursed with rage
As I suffer the consequences
For throwing away the key to my room
And letting naivete hug me on cold nights.
I silently, permanently rage
I hope you're happy now.
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Note: the knife isn't a knife per se, its made of more than sharpened stainless steel. At least that was what I was aiming for.