i've been shot;
twice.
by two, separate bullets
coming from completely different directions.
one of the bullets
is rusty and worn out:
the gunpowder inside has been given
one last chance.
the other bullet
is set aflame.
a cold fire
that pierced my skin and froze me
still
unable to breathe
think
move.
between the warmth and numbness
i would choose
the one
that pierced closer to my heart
so that i may never be able to live again
