my belly is getting bigger,
sitting in this prison,
my mind has created for my heart.
i wait, i watch, i bleed.
i worry, i whine, i weep,
for a finish to what won't even start.
point my gun to the sky,
frivolously firing.
bang. bang. bang.
nothing to ricochet these bullets.
try to assassinate one of the sterling silvers.
these bullets will grow weary, though,
and return to the earth beside my feet.
anger at beauty
looks more like the opposite.
bang. bang. bang.
since i aim so high,
bullets are only sent away,
so that they may come back
and kill me.
ambitions are misled and masked.
they appear passionate and resilient,
but are simply the heart lashing out at its owner.
shalom.
No comments:
Post a Comment