Deliverance Poem by Not Long Left

As the line slivered to a few
with wet palms and itchy mind
you waited with baited breath
for without an answer there
would be nothing left.

Into his room you go,
not to fast not to slow
meeting his eye's for a second
enough to grap a piece of his heart

He touches his temples
and strokes his dimpled chin
opens his folder, touches you name
with his finger,
brushes you aside
opens his mouth
delays, playing the unhappy god
stares into the words,
takes them from the page
and stabs them through your heart.