Spoon and Knife

Dinner is set on the table,
a savoury aroma wafting
through the dining room.

She takes out a spoon and a knife,
as she sits down asks
why her hands are holding a spoon
and not a fork.

Goes back to the drawer,
forcibly opening it,
cutlery clinking loudly
as her eyes narrowed down.

Her tongue rants to her husband
about how he misplaces things,
turning her home upside down.

His fists slammed on the table,
plates vibrating
as words fly over them
like air missiles in a world war.

Without pause,
each threw words
as if they were blades,
dodging hits and
launching sharper ones back.

Her face froze pale
as blood stained his white shirt
with a knife pierced through his heart.

Screaming, she ran towards him
held her spouse in bloody arms,
as his eyes closed.

Regret viciously trembles her body,
in the sorrow of the tragedy
she draws the knife out of his chest
and stabs it into hers.

They never meant
for cutlery to come between.

This is an entry for the contest 'Writers Block Poetry Contest' hosted by @thewritersblock.