We stand face to face, legs spread apart
Like two outlaws dueling in an old Western

Fingers twitching
Eager to get the first shot

We reach for our weapons simultaneously
Shot after shot filling our secluded battlefield

A vein in your forehead pulsing in frustration and concentration
I dodge everything you throw my way

A shot grazes my skin
The stinging of a paper cut, magnified

You loom over me
Your shadow swallowing me whole

Weapon rising above me slowly, painfully slow
I do nothing to avoid your final blow

My mouth contorts into a wince
Eyes closing involuntarily

The shot pierced me
Straight through the heart

Perfect aim.

Dread coursing through me
It spills over in a single teardrop

There's no such thing as a "word wound"  
No hospital will ever admit me

Even if it's far more damaging
Than any bullet