The lockSmith‘s Son
Just a little add on to my locksmith series or poems
The LockSmith‘s Son
Stop Breathing
Stop breathing,
then I don’t need
to kill you.
Don’t move.
Don’t cry.
Don’t give me reason,
to pity You,
They don’t call me
the locksmith’s son
for fun.
I don’t knock.
I don’t wait.
I know how to enter
and how to end.
You know how quiet
I can be.
You know
how clean.
No fight,
no mess,
no second chance.
Let your body
answer for you.
Let the air
decide.
I’m not here
to play
or plead.
So stop,
and be done.
They don’t call me
the locksmith’s son
for fun.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (3)
awesome
A chilling poem about a cold, silent killer with a locksmith’s precision
Amazing!