I hope this poem dies
I hope this poem is a lie
I hope this never comes true
I hope this poem dies

Am I under
the breath of death?
At it, at it again

Leave me a sweet taste in my mouth
Turning sour, bitter afterwards
Make me feel sure and at home
Then the big hitting - or none at all
Comes!
And that's how it comes - unseen, undone
And next thing - he's gone

I had higher, higher expectations for you
I broke what we had...
We need a resolution - what shall we find?
The runaway, you try to settle down...

Are we another story to be told
To strangers and not us?
Something that passed, nothing more than the shadow of a scar
A mark more in the gun.