RUSSIAN
ROULETTE
Lying awake, avoiding the joy, When the flow has stopped it will be too late, I will be far away, much too far to reach, A habit I seemed to pick off your body, As you lay there I forage like a vulture Attempting to find the remains of hope and love lost The metal feels warm now inside my mouth And yet in my reflection it should not be this way I tried to aim for you, but seemed to miss your heart And caught myself instead, but the time for saving has passed You loaded up my gun with promises and lies I, blindly, throttled the ignition and trusted your instinct The instinct of a predator I never could have caught And so you tore me to shreds and fed me to your pack Your eyes of ice burned deep into my heart Let the blood pump now as it trickles out my mouth In the same fashion yours bled lies My red is filled with hope, hurt, and lead Honorio Franco The blood tastes of you when it should be me The demon I’ve become I can no longer let live The gash, a minor set back, an impediment cured with healing white lies of happiness This game has announced me the winner and yet And yet there is the wound, my prize, my trophy Let me revel in its wonder and forgot who I’ve become My possession leaves me weakened and too fatigued to try To become more than what I am is too hard a struggle Close my eyes, a final time, and whisper in your ear “Goodnight my sweet,” you said to me to which I did not reply The blood has stopped, my life is spent, the sun begins to rise Today, a different day, a perfect day to fall back into my patterns. 9