Bullets of fire

You are pointing your burning gun at me. Aiming straight at my heart. I know you want to kill me. Or love me. To me, it’s the same thing. I want you to kill me that way. I want to explode together with whatever comes out of that gun. I want to dissolve right in front of you, to surrender to the moment – and to the danger of it. But instead, I try to hide behind my shadow. My fear. The gun is still burning. My words are black.

pistolen

No light is brighter than your promise to shoot me. I’m blinded. Trying to look away. But I can’t.

I’m staring right into death. Or love. Whatever. That’s when I feel your bullets hit me right in the heart. Bullets of fire. I can’t breathe. I don’t want to.
I can feel how everything is destroyed. Or saved. Or whatever. Blackbirds, blood moons, lion breaths, rotten flower beds – like fireworks above it all. Exploding within and inside.

And I realize – I don’t know the difference between love and a beautiful murder.

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