I’m not going to disarm you with a smile. I’ll do it with words. I’ll

I’m not going to disarm you with a smile. I’ll do it with words. I’ll sneak into your mind with alliteration, baffle you with metaphor, and assuage you with simile. My imagery will creep up on you like the spring, and that’s how I’ll get you. Hell, I got you three months ago. You’ve been stuck here ever since.  I won’t surprise you with spontaneity. I have whimsy, but my whimsy makes plans. Instead I’ll engineer the unexpected, drive you into a moment that you didn’t see coming, and that’s where I’ll blindside you. I think, and you see the results of those thoughts. My mind is my workshop, and I never wave when I go by. I’m hiding something from the rest of you, and I’m all to myself. I’m an IV, drip drip dripping myself out into your, drop by drop. But it’s all controlled, always controlled.  I creep up on you, you see. You think that you’re in charge, and in that moment, maybe you were. But that moment is behind you, and while the writing is on the wall, it’s already been papered over, and it’s in the apartment you haven’t rented just yet. Subtlety and blindfolds, and the unexpected touch of my fingertips against your arm.  The gasp when you feel the touch. The smile when you realise it’s me. -- source link

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