bullets

12.

and then they hit from my back, forward

the words glide through my chest

like bullets

painful but easily

like I wasn't even there. there was no flesh or bones to halt them.

nor was there a will.

still they sting and burn up the motivation I had just managed to muster from previous ashes

and I'm back to nothing.

the life drained out me

like the plug of productivity slipped,

maybe on purpose. maybe someone did it.

but this was not in my plan.

not when I was just regaining

all the life

that had reluctantly

accepted me back

it's gone now.

the air doesn't even make it

through the wounds and holes.

and it's cold and grey in my chest.

💔