The Pitchfork

Double pronged,

Deadliest when left alone,

Stewing in the minds

Of individuals who favor

Positions of neutrality,

And nudging them towards the grayest territories,

Domination, degradation

Followed by Humiliation

Leading to isolation, infuriation

Then rehabilitation

A sociopath enters a crowded room,

Steps to the podium, taps the microphone three times

And humbly requests attention,

He begins to explain,

The nooks and crannies,

The abstractions in vanity

To which his brain abides,

The awe, the magnetism and poise

As he fulfills a goal which leads him to a charm,

All the while sizing up the room,

I asked a question, just one question,

Which part was your favorite?

To which at first he seemed off guard,

Drank some water and fixed his collar

 His eyes looked down, then slowly all around,

A smile crept upon his face, whispering why the hell not,

He then went on to explain how the greatest pleasure there is

In life is to have a life hanging in the balance, smothered by a feeling

That all is lost, yet they fight with all they have, but overmatched they succumb

The time for pleading’s come and gone, no more words, no more tears,

All that remained was a broken soul,

 Begging with the eyes, begging for me to end his suffers.