Facebook Short Poetry Series #12

I’m not bulletproof,
it all gets to me,
the laughter and tears,
we exist in the moment
where you pull the trigger
while I stand in front of you.

it’s a simple touch,
a flex of tendon and bone,
and muscles quiver in anticipation,
and in the second we are gods
bringing down our own hands
but we forgot I wasn’t bulletproof,

and it all tears through me,
all the things you did before
all that is yet to be done,
but your silence is the loudest,
and I’m grateful for the sound
of tearing flesh and shattered bone,

it captures me,
locks my existence in the elusive moment,
where death and I are friends
wondering if we are staying, or going,
but I try not to think about any of it,
not now, the moment is gone,

the wall behind me isn’t bulletproof either,
evidence in it’s scarred, red-stained surface
that I was once asked to step away from
for the sake of something I knew nothing about.
But I am not bulletproof,
or word-proof….or life-proof

and albeit it was a simple plan,
I found you hiding in shame,
fearful of the hole you left in me,
simply because you couldn’t fake it anymore
when I asked you to be careful,
mindful, of the twitch in your finger.

It was simple,
I told you I wasn’t bulletproof,
and you shot me to prove it

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