In the passenger's seat,
I take my position.
Bullet engorger.
These words-
Your words.
are being sputtered at me
as though I
am the elephant you lept from.
The metalic taste
hits my tounge
as the words fly out
of the barrel.
I feel the sharp, cold, smoke.
I am choking.
But you keep ranting.
The ends of the Earth
seem closer than ever.
A bullet pierces
straight through
my vocal chords.
I am silent.
With something this vast
sitting in my throat,
the blood has no way to escape.
Through my eyes?
Never. It shows weakness.
And it front of you,
that's worse
than suffocating
of my own accord.
As the car comes to a stop,
I open the door,
leaving my post unattended.
Hoping someone else will come along.
A dream most unlikely to come true.
I tasted your bullets.
I swallowed the blood.
Now I ask,
Why haven't you killed me yet?
