Staring into a shattered mirror,
Only dead eyes; a forbidden place.
No life nor joy. No chance or hope.
No choice but to let it go.
The glint of the metal
Smiles up at me.
Gleaming with a deadly passion
He gave out his black hand;
And whispered 'Come to me.'
I took his offer;
Oh, so greedily. Oh, so rash.
He muttered 'Close your eyes-'
'And count to three.'
One.
His hand felt hot with anticipation.
My breathing; ragged; sharp.
Two.
The cool of His lips skim my throat
He whispered sweetly 'Its time to go.'
A fire burned as His lips gazed my skin.
The shine in the face's eyes.
Let me know, they feel more alive.
They gave me a final wink,
As His lips fell from my neck.
'Three' He grinned.
As He let go of my hand.
Cory Jensen
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/9829-count-to-three-9829/
