If looks could kill,
I would most certainly be dead.
Those eyes pierce me deeper
than any sword ever did
and my soul is ripped from my body
leaving a stain that is dark blood red.
The empty vessel that remains
then falls to the floor
a heap of dead tissue
that my resemblance it once bore
and you walk away with
not an ounce of guilt,
for all you did was stare,
your fingerprints aren’t on the hilt.
Autumn Siders 