I'm waiting terrified for the last decision,
You gently touch the knife,
My heart is pounding, waiting for the lethal incision,
I almost see the blade shedding the liquid of life,
I hear myself choking with my own blood,
The sound of the knife rending my flesh - a deafening thud.
But your hand goes further; over the axe it leans,
Shining ruthless under your fingers,
I'm about to die, by all means,
A sick suspense lingers,
I almost hear the sound of my breaking bones,
The gushing blood, the moans,
But no; your hand, well, further it goes.
"A gun? "
With it easily it will be done,
Infix the cold metal and let me bleed to death,
"Will it be fun? "
Just imagine the blood outflow until the last breath,
"Or a hammer? "
My body you could simply mash,
But you'll need to endure the blood splash,
That will stain your hands and face.
But instead that, your fingers, they retrace.
"The most lethal weapon isn't any of these",
You say stepping back, as my heart is starting to appease,
"It would be too easier with a gun or a knife",
And you simply smile,
"This is what will erode your life".