Sometimes I think about you and about the gun on the table beside my bed in the sanctuary
I think about staying up late even though it was a school night and macaroni and cheese
I couldn't cook it to save my life but you never minded you were just going to smother it with ketchup anyway
We'd watch old horror movies and you'd laugh when you should have screamed and fell asleep before the end
I'd tuck you in kiss your forehead and channel-surf for some comedy to lighten the mood
I think about the day it happened how I secretly hoped the gun would jam or misfire and you would come at me jaw unhinged looking nothing like my angel
Then we'd be together eating the flesh of some nameless passersby yours probably covered in ketchup
But the gun didn't jam my aim was unfortunately perfect
I think about how I was probably lying when I told you that you wouldn't feel a thing
Sanctuary 251 is a concept I have for a Post-Zombie-apocalypse tale that takes place ten years after the infection began spreading. People live "normal" lives in little towns with thick high walls called "Sanctuaries." There are several character poems I want to do from this concept. This is the first.- From The Poetry Of Sanctuary 251