"It seems like you dodged a bullet," intuition tells me.
In an instant I am stunned at that thought.
My tongue swells; throat holding an unquenchable lump.
Inside I can feel my heart circling the drain.

This is the pill I cannot seem to swallow.
I am choking.

"She seems quite toxic," guidance implores.
That black vine growing, ensnaring my mind.
Hyperventilating, and my vision goes blurry.
Tears swell and I'm fighting them back.

This is the blind eye I am turning.
I am denying.

Pain cuts the deepest
through clarity of
the agonizing truth;
becoming an irritating splinter
unable to be pluck from tender skin.

Dodged a bullet? A bullet's only purpose is to ****, I thought to myself.

She is the bullet.
And the irony?
She is the only one
I would have taken a bullet for.