THE GUN
I have lived my life
gathering wounds
78' was the first near fatal blast-
in dank lockeroom sweet smelling sweat
and it came from what I thought was above
and behind
and forever
and for something I did to someone I trusted
no one seemed to notice but me
the hole that it made inside me
the vaccume
the violence
the violet of youth had suddenly wilted
"Hey man, was that you?"
is all that I muttered
and everyone stood on their soapbox and smiled
and I felt like a clown without a circus
again.
The next shot came sooner than I had expected
Half my heart
And most of my liver
My blood
My breathing
My bones will not bend
They break when theyre tested
They have no give
No compromise
They are stiff and unforgiving because of that day.
So I began to look up
The rooftops
The trees
You were the enemy
And you hid in metal
And paper
And wood
And promises.
I havent slept in 40 years.
Because you are there
And still they keep coming
The wounds are still mounting
The blood keeps on flowing
Ive formed my own riverbed
To move the blood away from the
The couch
And the carseats
And the mailman
Who wont deliver the mail to a dieing man.
I move the blood away from them.
Until they see
It sneaks out from behind the white starched
Collar of my
Button down
Way of loving.
And
Then
I
Leave.
And then a shot rings out
And Im hit again
And the bone breaks
And the liver shatters into red ruby chrystals
And the vaccume begins to pull me to.
To oblivion again
Until today
Until now
Until I looked down
At myself
My whole life
The blood
The bones
The breathing
The violet violence
The clowns
The carseats
The paper promises
The vaccume that pulls
The mail undelivered
To an address that I never gave.
I looked at myself
For the first time today
And a sentence kept repeating in my head
As my eyes trailed down my body..
"Hey man, was that you?"
In my left hand was a fist full of shotgun shells.
In the right I was holding the
Gun.
michaelxavier2006
