Its sturdy metal prongs stick out sharply like knives.

The soft pink body protrudes outward.
And its bulging belly creates a roundish shape.

Metal punctures its innards,
Slicing right through the soft pink mold.

No bigger than a lemon,
This device could cut through flesh.

It waits anxiously,
Resting quietly in its hardened shell,
Ready to pounce on its next victim.

Suddenly five pokey fingers cling to the clunky plastic shell,
Clenching it firmly within their massive grasp. 

Suffocating against a clammy palm,
Gasping violently for a single smothered breath.

The skinny, crooked fingers gently unfold.

Finally free from all constraints,
The device stretches out its short chrome claws,
Strangling the weak with only three prongs.