The End
By M. F. B. Porter
A single shot rings
Through the air.
So many memories tucked away
in words not spoken;
So little words.
They cling to my lips
As I look at you,
And you look back at me.
Memories;
They flash.
Words;
They cling.
They die in my throat,
My mouth lingering open
To speak them.
It all hangs between us,
Jagged, unfinished,
And the pain blooms
In my chest.
This is the end.
My end.
Your end for me.
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