I unlike bullets am uncertain,
while we both hold in chambers with blackout curtains,
I lack a hammer with which for my certainty to take form,
or a casing over which people could mourn,
come the dawn we both would be spent,
and those who remember us would lament ,
over days we both were whole,
not one fused to the other mind and soul,
but my uncertainty lends to fear that bullets don't have,
my skin is weak I am not iron clad,
not bound to a course of which my heart would lie with,
but both bullets and I have an end to die with.