He held the gun to my head
And asked me for my innocence.
I stood there, silently memorizing
his distinct features.
His deep, dark black eyes
had a certain murkiness
like the reflection of the moon
in polluted waters.
His long slender fingers
strangled the pistol
with sinister intent.
I looked to his stomach, concave
like a den which held a
capable of killing me with a single blow.
I peered into it and saw
that it was a similar to mine.
Unable to process my feelings,
I expressed none at all.
My mind was blank,
more empty then the sands
of the most desolate desert.
Until suddenly, anger filled my mind
and that desert was replaced with an ocean.
I looked down, then back at those features
that now haunt my darkest dreams.
And I cried.
I cried tears not of sadness or fear,
but rather tears of frustration and anger.
I cried at my weakness, at my inability
Like a newborn baby attempting to crawl
from the confines of its crib.
Like a one legged Colosseum fighter
running from a sword and the
fate he could not avoid.
And at that moment, I vowed: