It was like she took a 12 gauge shotgun,
Pointed it straight at my heart,
And pulled the trigger at point blank range
It was like even the blood she spilled would do her bidding;
Make patterns, write love letters.
Every drop splattered on the walls,
Retreated in slow motion, back into my body,
Like an ingenious design of the unknown.
Forming a stronger love than the one she shot out,
In a cycle, till she runs out of shells.
She kissed him and began to leave; a love too strong to fight.
A love too strong to fight, too strong to be one with.
A true love that would hurt her, like she had hurt him.
A love that turned to venom inside him, made him want to hurt her.
Like holding a 12 gauge shotgun, pointing straight at her heart,
And pulling the trigger at point blank range.
He loads the revolver one last time, faces the mirror,
Sees her, and pulls the trigger.
He crashes out of his dream head first,
A million glittering pieces and reality.
(Co-written with Siddarth Pathak @ShivaShadow)