there’s a gun in my hand
(metaphorically speaking)
and i wrote this for u,
every last tear and laugh
and droplet of blood that
you drew out of my flesh,
blades for kisses while
the drugs reached your
veins-down the rabbit
hole you went once
again; and maybe i
should be sorry about
it, perhaps loving you
was just as mad as the
pills you swallowed,
because all i seemed
to be was a game
that you made, but
there’s a gun in my
hand, and it won’t
go away