Marksmen never miss
So here I am
Bleeding out into the cobbles
Murky stones lifting
Shifting under shaky legs
You shot
So see the color of my passions pour out
Watch passion stain you
Red of love and shame
Marksmen never miss
Alone in the street
Crying out into the streets
Screaming into sheets
Nickel mouth
Killer bout
Not your hands
Not your heart
You words
Through me
Cut me down
I'm bleeding out
And it's my fault
Marksmen never miss
But lovers always do
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Attempts
PoetryA small collection of the excuses I call poetry. I'm not a poet but if you need a light read, here you go
