At Knifepoint
Jul 23, 2017 · 1 min read

A sick feeling in the gut
His eyes sharp over mine.
My head spinning
retelling the same lie.
It could have been different!
Oh, the senseless words muttered
over every past event,
gnawing like a hunger
building up staged scenes
in which I had the upper hand
or something up the sleeve.
That and the powerlessness
growing within my heavy chest
telling yet another lie.
Everything is set!
In that lonely moment
there was no God.
And although there was no light
there it was this silver-bright knife
dull and dead as was the night.
And yet I came out alive.
It's strange how a memory can stick with you forever. Sometimes, it leads to good writing.

