Prompt: Write a complex poem.
He slows down and our eyes meet.
I force my fear into a wide smile.
He’s been following me for some time, I think,
but if asked, will he hide behind denial?
In my state of fear, I force a smile.
He smiles back and asks about my day.
But I can’t hide behind denial
or ask if he intends foul play.
When he smiles and asks about my day
an eerie chill runs through my veins.
I know his hands intend foul play
as they make my side bleed in pain.
The eerie chill that ran through my veins
when I saw him in the hall and the stairwell
was the last thought I had as I bled out in pain.
His final look said he knew the dead won’t tell.
~Pamela L. Taylor © 2013