Today I shot a gun.

I aimed at the middle of the heart
stared down the lane
took a breath and
fired directly
at the
target.

The target didn't have a face
or a name

It was a blank canvas
And I painted your features onto it

And God,
Oh god...
did it feel good to fire at you.

Six-year-old me would've been proud
for doing what you should've done years ago.

Now my target looks like your heart.
Full of (bullet) holes.

f.m.s.