.38 Kisses to midnight

Life has lain hidden snares at my feet, camouflaged
by my own indescision. My toes are precariously teetering
on the edge of reason and acrophobia pulses through my veins
with an almost lethal dose of adrenaline as I glance down
to check my footing and realize how terrified I truly am.

At least my heart is safe; I saw to that. I picked it up, dusted it off
and was thankful it was still beating, but it never looked the same.
After staring past the barrel of a loaded .38 and seeing
the eyes of insanity on the other side, I knew the hatred
in those eyes would pierce me just as deeply as any bullet could.

I packed my life in canvas bags
and placed my damaged heart in a biohazard box;
the faded yellow words on the side could have been my eulogy.
With my most precious cargo,
I left behind the carnage of my past.

I grew to appreciate the darkess; a quiet, solitary sky
and soothing shadow to keep me safely hidden, but I was not alone.
I found him there, hiding behind the stars; a soldier of blind alleys
whose heart hung from a silver chain, serial number, blood type,
and 'don't love me' on punched metal tags.

His scars were beautiful, so I showed him my own.
We raced a setting moon to a place of dreams and secrets,
and beneath the night's last beam, a faded yellow box
and cast off dogtags lie buried below the juneberry trees.


There is a thin line between love and war and we surrender willingly
because the greatest casualty of love is loneliness.