Mark

me

i think i remember
the coppery scent of blood
and how it looked like
red punch from my
eighth birthday.

i remember mark's eyes.
they didn't look like eyes
because they were so dark
and so unseeing.
they were like glass
and the mark behind them
wasn't really
my mark.

my mark
smiled.
my mark
laughed.
my mark
was happy.
my mark
loved me.

but most of all,
i remember mark's gun
because it was so big.
it looked like
one of the guns
someone in the military would have.
it looked like
one of the guns
that are supposed to protect us
from the enemies.

my classroom
was the first one
he entered
because it was so far from the others.
they couldn't hear us
or the gun
in the main building.
my classroom had
28 kids in it,
and all of them died.

i remember looking at mark
and his typhoon eyes
and the good-guy gun
and i thought of our kiss
and your dark chocolate rhubarb lips
and your favorite cologne
and your dad
and your mom
and your life
going down the drain.

and i remember
my lips forming words
before you reloaded,
and stared at me,
and shot me.

it was only one shot
in my chest,
it tore a hole in my lungs
so i couldn't breath.
if i could guess
i think it was what heartbreak would feel like.

fin

#ENDGUNVIOLENCE