Winchester Bullet

There's a Winchester bullet

Lodged in my chest

Between my ribs and my spine

And I can feel the metal press

Into my lung with every breath.

Don't call me brave for owning rifles

Or playing with a gun

I did this to myself-

So the copper and the lead

Seeping into my veins

Isn't nearly as painful

As one would imagine.

But I'm dizzy now- 

Objects slip from my view

Like ephemeral ghosts just out of reach

And even your hands

Are far from my weakening grasp

So I and my bullet

We'll sit here and bleed

Ever-expanding rosettes of

A crimson wine only the drunk appreciate.

You're the cocked gun

On my bedside table next to books and pens

And it feels so right, so easy

Heavy in my hand-

I can't heal with a bullet inside

But if I tear it out

The pain will be more than I can stand.

Reviews

[Lydia]

This is amazing. You're a wonderful writer!

[JoshiDx]

This is so well crafted, the way each line flows into the next. I am impressed by the succinct sense of flow that expresses the emotion intended before ending.

Also you gave me the freedom to rate these now, so I am going to take advantage of such opportunity and let a bit of hyperbolic hype strike.