limber

my attempt at humor

i remember you there.

my finger on the trigger,

the barrel to my foot.

you always asked if it was love?

was it? it was.

so i walk with a limp,

and with the barrel to my hand.

so i dont shoot my foot.

you asked me to change.

so i bought myself boots

with spangle and shine

to hide, i shot myself in the foot

with the barrel to my hand

and a limp behind my boots

i marched on, until

you asked me to run.

so i ran, majestically

then my finger slipped.

the barrel wasn't on my hand,

it was on my other god damned foot.

Author's Note

im still polishing

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

Nicely written poem. Enjoyed well

[GlendaK]

Wow, I hope you're not a gambler.

Good stuff!
G