I never like the way she look with the corner of her eyes when she walk though my desk. With a sudden clearance if I stare back to see who is pointing out what I do from eyes back.
I fear the knife you hide behind a smile, a hand offering with a sweet word but vile. I fear with a chill that I am the one who will return the knife to your pretty cold face. I fear my self. So please, this passage way is for owner only.