I Built a Wall You Called A Fence But I have a Gun You Could Never Argue With

Something is wrong here
Something feels off
The sky is never quite
Its proper shade of blue
Our conversations are dull
We complain to ourselves
We sit and watch paint dry
We sit in silence
I pluck feathers
From crows
You pluck feathers
From cardinals
We intertwine arguments
Weave them around  
Good mornings
And good nights
Wrestle in the raindrops
Something is wrong here
There is an ashtray
Just to your left
But you prefer
To flick ash
Into my drink
Just for the laugh
I built a wall
You called a fence
But I have a gun
You could never
Argue with
You call it  
A bullet  
But I call it
A period.

Written by anonymouslyhere (Pariah Shadow)
Author's Note
Obviously I do not condone gun violence nor violence in general.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Grace Taurek
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

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