Movie Love

Maybe I found it
When they burst through the door
The questions
Like trigger fingers
Curled around the metallic flavored fear
Of assault rifles in a fleeting scene
That really should've been cut.

Three kill shots from behind a plastic silencer
So no scream,
But no breath and no answers.
A Hollywood rhythm I'd forgotten,
Echoing against the patterns
Chance cut between
The severed sugar glass
Letting live
Glints of memory
Project onto blank-screened faces,
Replaying a paralysis of mind.

At least 20 times;
Same singular tear
Same emptiness in seat 64
Beside his seat 65.

They should've given a spot in the credits
For the shaky cam irony
That didn't completely mask
The ketchup wounds and my dry fixation
With everyone's favorite opinionated douchebag
Getting off in row 6, seat 65.