A flicker between expressions,
Pauses that are unprovoked.
Those moments in the still,
Clear epiphany of the ordinary.
Between steps and under breaths,
It lingers there in the air around me.
I wait; I look; but I cannot see
That which is held behind my head—
A gun, cocked, trigger heavy.
It rests there as I lay in bed,
As I speak to those around me
Who are unable to see it.
When I'm sat in the quiet,
Dark abyss that is alone,
Cold metal presses to hot skull,
Branding the confines of my ailment.
A sizzle almost went unheard;
A cry almost went unnoticed,
A cry not from my own mouth,
But from the ebony shadows
Who thrive off holding that gun,
Who live to see me tremble.
