words can kill.

Your mouth became a lethal weapon.

And when you had finally

had enough of me,

your lips pulled the trigger.

The words you shot at me

became bullets in my heart,

became lodged in the places

that were supposed to be filled with love.

So I walked around for a long time

wounded by your words,

but I never knew how to

perform the surgery to remove them,

nor had I found somebody

willing to extricate something so dangerous

from the dark places of my chest.

How was I supposed to love

when I had silver bullets

engraved with promises

that I’d never be good enough

and that I’d never be loved

wedged into my heart

so far that I couldn’t

find myself anymore.

How was I supposed to live

when I couldn’t stop

the internal bleeding

caused by you

that was slowly depriving me

of both oxygen and love.

Answer me this,

how long did you expect me

to live with bullet holes

shaped like you

in the center of my heart?

Not long,

I tell you.

Not long.

 

  • m.f.
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