Gambling Man

His finger traces the

veins in your wrist, a

cold reminder of his presence.

It wouldn’t take much to

tear through your thin skin, to

coax the blood out from within you.

Option one is an upturn of lips,

cruelty oozing from his

slippery smile as he

digs in, almost deep enough.

He teases your veins,

madness in his eyes as he realizes

the gravity of this newfound power.

If you move, it’ll all be over,

but which fate is worse?

Option two is a twitch,

wariness clouding his features

when he sees your distrust.

Perhaps it’s his fault, or

perhaps you’ve been here before,

trusting so wholly before being

torn apart. He slides his

thumb over your wrist once more

before pulling away and giving you

a smile, a silent apology for

everything

Of course, the only way to

truly know is to

offer your wrist, eyes

shut in anticipation, and

pray that you're right