Blank Gun

Blank Gun

I don’t think people realize
the turmoil within;
the ripping and tearing
of what can and can’t be done.

Do guns fire every time the trigger is pulled?
Do hearts skip beats when hands run
up legs like silk woven into clothing?
Smooth. Soft. Clean-

Consistent with perfection,
and the image of a future.
But it’s so fragile.
No one can feel your blood fill-

With grief: thick and cold.
No one can see what sulks
behind eyes that pull down
shades in the hopes of escape.

No one, but me.

Reviews

[Yellow Butterfly]

"I don't think people realise the turmoil within"

"No one, but me"

Your first and last lines in your first and last stanzas speaks volumes....

Humans have a great tendency of making things look hunky dorey on the outside putting on a brave face... yet hoping that the sadness lurking on the inside gets noticed too...


You have penned this beautifully... :O)

[Autumn de Rue]

I feel almost no need to leave my own review when you wrote exactly what I was thinking.