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