i hate you,
i think, as you try to shoot me to death.
standing above me with a gun in my face
you feel
rage like undissolved sugar in
warm milk -
and
there’s blood on the floor and
then there’s me
,
dying and almost dead,
but
you left my eyes open ,
and i know
you forgot the murder weapon:
so i’m going to take it with me.
one day ,
i’m going to heal ,
and i’m going to remember —
you took my gun ,
took all my bullets
too .
and i still won’t ever shoot back.