Poetry · Writing

Six Shooter

The thing about the bullet;

it doesn’t care about race, gender or who you’re fucking

it rips without malice and discord

tearing families apart.

Dreadful and honest the silver spins

signed by a government

not even ours or one we recognize

a human on the other end

no trail

just an executioner.

Sweet silver-

hear this prayer on your deaf ears

as I ask you to love a man.

Love the first man you’ll touch eyes with

and I promise-

you won’t need another.

Love until the spindle falls

the babies weep and the families mourn

and you’ll be surprised

as fate loads another.

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