Shotguns

Shotguns

I would like to think that shotguns are nice.
The trigger feels hard to the touch
Like that one rock that you hid on my backpack years ago.
The thought never left my head because
I’ve always wanted to own one, you know.

A shotgun.
Nice and smooth and hard and black.
As black as the void you see with your eyes shut.
I can go as dark as that and watch the pretty little bullets
Sift in your flesh like bright sweet lollies with
A very nice tang at the edge of my taste buds.

Etching a vivid mark of pain was never
An inviting memory. It’s in fact daunting.
And your ignorance has always, always made me
Want to trap you in your rightful paradise.

Except it comes with revenge served chilled
With a very loud bang.

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