Dear sweet Philip

I am the one to blame.

A knife held close

next to my shame.

 

Had you kept quiet

So would’ve my blade...

 

Wait!

I see a man,

 

he resides in the shade...

 

Stepping close

Knife in hand.

Nearing the corner

I quickly demand...

 

Who goes there?

I shout.

The echoing sustains.

No one answers

I must be insane.

 

I turn back, I look.

Poor Philip lies still.

Reality sets in...

 

I feel ill.