The blade felt cold between my fingertips.
On my smooth sleek legs, there’s a chilly breeze,
These jeans are covered with crazy huge rips.
I sprint past people and guards with great ease,
My feet—barely touching the ground—silent.
Across my face goes streams of light,
Searching for me are police and sirens.
A part of my mind knows this isn’t right.
Who’s controlling my brain, I do not know,
For I would never murder my best friend.
I scream his name as I start to slow,
He trusted me until the very end.
You don’t have to do this, his sad eyes plead,
But my master is the one I must heed.