The Unspoken

The unspoken waits in the shadows
witholding information
smirking

Confusion is his game
Deception is his lifeblood

He slabs at the heart with his stilleto
just breaking the skin
and watches
as the fine trickle of blood meanders,
mingling with the beads of sweat it encounters

He smiles
the injuries he inflicts bring misery, not death

His deception is perfect
He convices his victims that they are the assailent
and encourages them to inflict even more harm on themselves

He covers their ears
so that the only voices they hear are their own
Growing louder
Accusing
Ridiculing
Stabbing

Please stop