the last fight was like
blotting a gunshot wound with tissue paper
a meager but futile attempt to stop the blood from spilling out
but this wasn't a superficial wound
it was deep and messy and deliberate
you aimed for my heart
but missed
instead the bullet lay lodged in my left shoulder
interwoven with my nerves and heartstrings
so every time i moved, i would get a constant reminder of the pain your faulty trajectory caused
as i lay here
after the last fight
with a gunshot wound on my left shoulder
with the blood drip, drip, dripping out
you walk right past me
although the wound hurt
your reaction stung more
you were not sorry
you weren't remorseful
you were apathetic to the damage you caused
after all
how could you shoot someone you love
and just walk away
leaving me to tend to the wound that was meant for my heart?
YOU ARE READING
thoughts at 4 am
Poetrythose random thoughts that keep you up at night as you toss and turn, putting up your fight
