"Where do you think you're going? Did I told you to leave?" He spoke and walked closer to me. He placed his left hand around my throat and pushed against the wall. I winced in pain. He was holding a knife in his right hand, and slowly trailed down with the top of the knife down my jawline. "D-dont, please" I gulped. I closed my eyes and I was shaking. I was about to pass out.

"One side of me says, 'I'd like to talk to her, date her.' The other side of me says, 'I wonder how her head would look on a stick"

It ain't the gun, it's the man behind the trigger, gets blood on his fingers and runs. It ain't the knife, it's the way that he uses it, how he abuses it in fights.