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The Artist in the Ambulance by ~xapplexpiex:iconxapplexpiex:



“Hold me,” it practically said.
The pistol was my best worst enemy.
On the other hand,
it wanted to be held,
like a newborn baby.

Shoving it away did no good.
I was the only thing it knew.
Hungry, hammered, hated, whole-
no, I didn’t feel whole.
I need that left-out piece.

Falling forever, while standing firm.
Is this where the beginning end?
And where then end begins?
Too many questions and not enough answers-
BANG!
©2008-2009 ~xapplexpiex
:iconxapplexpiex:

Author's Comments

The title is a song by the band Thrice. In a way, it reminded me of this poem.

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November 17, 2008
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