I saw bullets coming at me. Then I wait. I wait for my heart to stop. I wait for my breathing to stop. I wait for the aftermath to come. But it never came. Because my heart stopped a long time ago. My clothes are stained from where the bullets have passed. But I feel nothing. And I'm scared because I'm still breathing. My heart is screaming. I've never felt this way before. The bullets feel at home inside my chest.
You looked at me, with a smile playing on your lips. As much as you want to, you don't seem to bother me. Not anymore.
YOU ARE READING
Trinkets
PoetryIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
