Pow!
On a little red flag from the barrel of this pistol
pointed poignantly at my temple,
it grazes the flesh and draws precious little blood in a rivulet down my neck.
I'm tempted to pull the trigger again,
to see if the gag is still funny,
for if the next chamber is loaded, I'll laugh.
Loneliness is like a lake under freeze,
iced over and still,
silent,
reflective;
and hard as ******* concrete when you slip.
Bang!
Like my head on the floor,
like the door
behind you as you left,
like the doors always in front of me.
Ones I've seen opened briefly;
enough to vaguely glimpse
the trees and sunshine on the other side waiting.
But I can't seem to find my keys.
They were just here, I swear;
they were in my ******* hand.
Where the hell did they go?
******* I'm late, I'm always late.
Slam!
My fist through a wall that I wish was my skull,
or you heart.
The cracks in my bones are
the cracks in the ceiling
I study as I stare soundlessly, sullen.
I only ever express my anger in solitude,
and dark, where it can be hidden
by shadow, surrendered
and silently sequestered to my hearth.
My fire is burned low and I'm running out of fuel.
It's growing cold in the dwindling light,
and I know if I sleep I'll just freeze;
better to shiver and seize;
to survive, to hope to see sunrise...
sigh...
She is rising and I'm blinded,
but I refuse not to stare directly into her shine.
She breaks binds,
brings back to life my corpse with her light.
I won't let her day slip away this time.
I was told that I would know it when I see it, and I see it
star-bright, burning brilliant in the sky.
I take aim and hold my trigger-hand high.
I'm not scared of consequences;
I'm just a little gun-shy.
