Your bullet hit me deep

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A piece about the effects of abuse

Submitted: November 21, 2009

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Submitted: November 21, 2009



Your bullet hit me deep, it was wrapped in rejection and aggression. My body streamed into a pool, empty of affection. The warmth of love seeping away like the heat in winter. My brittle soul clambers onto the escaping strand of last hope, lungs grasping after air. My tears fall down me, each drop afraid to leave me alone, cold from pain, spent from exhaustion. Everywhere constant bullets of rejection another soul crying for help, unheard and destroyed, disillusioned by the hands that reach out too late, not knowing what true pain is, only the designated name, a statistic, a static life passed by for the next outstretched hand which is also too late. Cries of incomprehension, sadness, hope, so needing of a smile in the right time, a touch of warmth, a promise of love, to not reject, not assault. All over the world the bullets hit their targets, souls crying for peace, afforded only by chance. A meager opportunity at happiness, most often lifelong suffering or an early death, the cries of the wounded echo in the ever distance. You watch the bullets go, your emotions impassive and cold, the pain that it causes, a mute ripple in your ears. You turn away, your victims lost, wandering, wondering why.

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