You are a gun.

Cold to the touch,
& when I'm with you,
You weigh down my waistband where you are
silently tucked.

I don't understand exactly how to explain you.

You feel good on my skin,
but when I put my hands on you,
Your harsh razor like output,
digs from within.

Nothing is a secret with you.
You lay low and then,
fully announce yourself in front of everyone.
Why, Why, Why?
You can never be in between but rather one or the other.

I step back and look at you,
Your structure smooth,
your purpose deadly.

Materialistic as you crave for more,
Clip by clip goes by,
End is near is on your mind.

No part of you is good to anyone,
for you leave destruction and despair behind.

I'm thankful I met you.

You are proof that I can recall to my children,
of what sorrow for others truly means.

I will teach them,

Some are a man like a gun.
He will leave you on the ground,
prone in your own blood

Your final words will be,
broken, uncoveted poison.

Last wistful words,
choking.

"I love you"