16 May

You are like a breath of mustard gas.

Crippling, agonizing, effective

for killing me quickly.

The internal violence that ensues

presents no outward symptoms to you.

Spouts of blood directly from my heart

should show you I cared if not for your blindness

from that thick goggled mask.

You’re running for your life in the other direction,

toward another girl’s spitting bullets,

forgetting its my photo you hold in that protecting Bible

next to your left side ribs

so close to that empty pump

You trust to keeps you alive, and moving

in a direction toward both of our deaths.


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