The Corrupted Wordsmith

wordsmith

Who would win in a battle

Of brain against brawn?

When your flesh becomes your only weapon

To defend the scorned.

 

The scorned being you,

Humiliated and impassioned

And in need of retribution

By any means.

 

But in this world

You are provided with only one

Where guns and knives are at the hands of none

When in the game of vengeance

 

The choice is yours, young fellow

The rules are quite clear and concise

You may have brawn or you may have brain

Physical strength or wisdom’s gains

 

Many a fool chose brawn

As blind fury can lead one to believe

That physical injuries will suffice

That blood and gore is what you need.

 

But I, a wordsmith, of the venomous sort

Know more of the delightful damage my words can do

I have just the thing to leave a sting,

The enduring tormenting kind

 

If the brain is something that interests you.

 

If so, I can assist you in your malefic endeavours

Teach you the power of mental wounds

Skill you in the art of breaking a heart

Without breaking a sweat.

 

I know how to kill a person

From the inside out

The type of pain they can never treat

The type of death they can never escape

 

I know of a death that greets you every waking hour

That will paralyse and steal your life

Until it is nothing

But a succession of torment, that you are forced to relive & relive

 

Now, if that is something that interests you, fine fellow,

I am just the wordsmith for you

Brute force can get you so far, but

With brains, with me, words can get you the rest of the way.

 

The choice is always yours.

Author: Ruth Elora

it's all about the mystery.

2 thoughts on “The Corrupted Wordsmith”

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