She takes all the things she’d said,
forms a new bullet, shoots herself in the head.
And all of the words blow straight through her brain
and she is tormented and she is caused pain
by six little words that never stop turning
around in her mind and the bullet is burning
and so it heals the wounds that it made before
then it’s carrying on and it’s opening more
and so she pleads guilty to the crimes she recalls.
She can not say sorry or make amends at all
and so she lives with the worry and quietly pays
and lives with herself as the bullet ricochets
off the walls of her skull and out through the eyes
and when the drops fall it’s these thoughts that she cries.
She takes all the words that come one by one.
She carefully places them into the gun
She knows much to much and she feels her age.
She pulls the trigger, blood falls on the page
Three drops at a time, it continues to spill:
one for her, one for him, one for the way that she feels.
But the shot never kills, it only obscures
the life that she lives now that he is not hers.
And she tries to remember and she tries to forget
the way that the light looks as the sun slowly sets.
So she takes all the memories and she takes her time
and she closes her eyes as the cross-hairs align.