Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Between The Bullet And Beating Yourself Up

I can hear the sound of a hammer being pulled back
on one of the world's invisible pistols
every time she speaks to me,
this coldness in her hand that'll finalize saying goodbye
to the things she no longer has the desire to throw "hellos" at,
and it's quite disturbing,
to the point that each time
I can feel my own thumb pressed firmly
against my own

When someone you love and respect,
whom you think is bigger than you in so many ways
upstairs and in the chest,
decides to or feels compelled to end it,
well, it's a fucking heartache,
I somehow feel guilty, and I've never figured out why,
but I do know that in the middle of these moments
I find myself wishing I were good enough to pull her from it,
but I know that's silly, because if I were
I would have holstered the cold steel feeling from my hands
and have this fucker hocked by now,
if only for a few thought processes
that could make me smile

When she speaks to others in front of me
I can hear the shots going off,
aimed from her lips to their hearts,
these desperate shots expected to bring them up to her level,
shot-off in hope the perfect words will flow from their lips to her ears,
but you can see in her eyes that she knows this will never come to pass,
as if she already knows it's hard to hit the bullseye when your lips are quivering

I know that look too,
because I know that feeling,
that pressure against the cold
screaming out, wanting someone to be the perfect negotiator ,
but the disbelief that one even exists haunts you
if you're walking around with these invisible pistols,
after watching so many fail at your "perfect" test
usually inspires one's heart to believe in no perfect counterpart,
knowing you'll only settle for less until you pull the trigger
or surround yourself with people you know would put themselves
between the bullet and you, no matter how selfish the world takes it


© 2011 William A. Robertson (All Rights Reserved)