Those Eyes

He pulls his mask down over his eyes, waiting for his chance.
He's an anarchist. Enmity and discord, flow within his veins.
He holds his weapon close, his lips are parched, and breath is sharp.
The woman rises, and bids her beau farewell.
The masked man is alert. His excitement, electric.
Her feet follow the path, his car follows her.
He's had her before, but it was all legal then.
"I'll show her," he mutters, vengeance on his mind.
One last time, he'll touch her skin, kiss her lips.
Stroke her hair, make love to her.
He wants her too hurt, but he loves her so.
Can he really do this?
He's consumed by a broken heart, and jealousy's his friend.
If he can't have her, then no-one can, for they don't deserve the chance.
She reaches her door, his car stops.
Fumbling with her keys, she never sees him rise.
He holds his breath, and prepares too seize his prey.
She turns the handle, and a scream hits the air.
"Mummy!" Her child throws his arms wide, and hugs his mother tight.
The man stops dead. The child looks familiar.
He knows those eyes, and that nose, for they both belong to him.
He drops his weapon, and flees the scene, tears falling thick and fast.
He understands everything now, why she left, why he was bitter. If only he had known.
Abandoned her, and chose to work, was what he had done.
She had left, and he had burnt with fury.
She was looking out for the child, giving him a steady home.
Now he understood . . . what life was all about.