Torn was the fabric of our
painful pasts.
torn by shots fired from heart
to heart, ricocheting between
bruises and disappointments,
then wedging themselves between
ribs, to rest and incapsulate.
I run my asking fingers across
your entry wound.
we did this to ourselves.
torn to pieces, the drapes between
us and The Holiest of Heavens.
let us never cease fire.
empty your every clip;
beautiful, beautiful
bullets.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC
Torn was the fabric of our
painful pasts.
torn by shots fired from heart
to heart, ricocheting between
bruises and disappointments,
then wedging themselves between
ribs, to rest and incapsulate.
I run my asking fingers across
your entry wound.
we did this to ourselves.
torn to pieces, the drapes between
us and The Holiest of Heavens.
let us never cease fire.
empty your every clip;
beautiful, beautiful
bullets.
