When it's to late

Tied to a chair
trapped in my own little lair
with a possible murder by my side
chatting with his selfish pride

darkness covers the light
not a person in sight
the time seems eternal
in this silent infernal

a grip around my wrist
a punch with his fist
a scar to be felt
feelings to melt

aggressions like a mist
another hit by his fist
a smile once so warm
now cold and deform

the rope clears his fright
and by the end of the night
a stream of blood to be seen
like cliche from a scene

but his face has turned gray
not a smile at his prey
a bitter feeling of regret
raised with my last cigarette

(comments and rating appreciated)