My mouth is a gun

Tonight I don’t want to be
a lovely thing. I don’t want
flowers, pressed or otherwise,
or typewriters or a warm love

Tonight I am a house on fire
My heart is like lead in the sea
Millenia of shame press down on me,
forming layers and layers of sedimentary rage

I erode other people’s masked, gentle faces
I will tear them apart with the force of a
thousand rains and a hundred thunderclaps

My heartbeat is a finger on the trigger
There is no going back now;
all the graves have been dug
The bodies lie electric in wait,
all pressing forward for the bang.

It is a long time in coming.

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