Our principles of love revolve around your trigger.
You reload your sentence and aim your shot.
I feel the bullet hit my gut.
Hearts and roses scatter across the room as I bleed the love I feel for you.
Gun me down and shoot again. Hit a nerve to end us and our final flame.
Click back and release. A silence concludes the miserable triangle of love.
Hope he was worth the shots. Hope he heard the gun reload. Hope he felt the bullet.
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Something transpired that led to an affair being revealed. The confirmation of it existing and ever taking place feels like a shot.
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My Night-time Poetry
PoetryI sometimes write poems at night when I'm feeling too inspired to sleep, so this is my poem dump for when I can't sleep at 04:07 AM on a saturday. Please enjoy, and keep in mind this is just a side night hobby of mine, not perfect or professional in...
