I hand you the gun and supply you with bullets every time you run out; Hoping you'll stop shooting holes in my fragile heart.
One day my heart will be made of metal stronger than titanium. And a bullet will ricochet off the inhumane metallic cage built from shells cases (a passing gift from the bullets).
And that bullet will head straight back for you, aiming for your head, because we both know you've never had a heart.
I hope that bullet skims a vital artery so you know what it feels like to slowly die by the one you loved.
From that I hope you know real pain. When all you see is crimson, all you feel is rolling warm blood on a cooling body, all you taste is salt, and all you know is death.
I hope you regret what you did to me.
I hope you see how it led to this.
And when they find your deceased body, so mine could be alive...
I hope our names were carved and encased on that bullet, so they knew, that you, in no way romantically, died while killing me.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
Poetry"I know that sometimes for people, I feel like too much; But let me kiss away the phantom pain that the scars remind you of, Let me kiss the burns on your hands, From when you touched the burning fire within my soul. Let me show you that yes, I am...
