PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have the knife griped tightly in my hand.
Kneeling on the floor, rough cool tiles scraping my knees
The foul stench of his breath,
Rolling from his wide open trap,
Assault my nose as I fight the urge to gag
It’s now or never
I bring the shaking knife to meet his throat;
And I cut a deep gash
Black liquid spills from the wound
His eyes fly open
A sick gurgle escapes his lips
As he draws his last breath
I drop the gleaming knife to the ground with a clatter.
I am free