Sign the Death Warrant

Finger guns drawn,

A duel to the death.

Accusations,

Name calling,

Harshness.

They are just as lethal

As a loaded

Revolver,

Pistol,

Glock.

I am shocked

When the blood begins

To stain my tear soaked shirt.

When it was I,

Who loaded each of your guns.

Who taped the target to my shirt.

Who called the sounding...

"FIRE!"

I pulled the finger guns first,

And pointed them at your chest,

I didn't pull the trigger,

But I let threats scare into submission.

So why am I surprised?

When

Anger,

Bitterness,

And downright pettiness,

Guide a hand,

Hover a finger,

And whisper the words,

"I'm done"

-The deviant,

Hopefully, lifelong prisoners of a throat,

Escape love parched lips,-

The pull.

And yet I'm shocked to find

It was not you who signed

The Death Warrant.

But the same hand that pulled the trigger.

Mine.

Ironic, right?

I was always so good at

Shooting Straight.