You brought a pacifist to a gunfight;
someone that would never think to weaponize affection,
but I’ll stand my ground after 20 paces
with aloofness for armour
each step
an affirmation that the second smack of gunpowder is useless,
misdirected,
a ricocheting echo
barely registered.

Something told me,
never to turn and face you,
to keep on walking
to never see your face again
for a sense of finality that I finally had control over,

you imbittered my autonomy
for the sake of your ego,
what’s one more victory to you?
You’ve already taken my trust as a trophy.