Black. White. Silver. Red. ~ Samantha Rose

There was a hole

buried deep into the left side of your body,

behind the bars of your rib cage

and sinking under the hollowness in your chest.

Its blackened mouth swallowing you limb by limb

until anything you ever were

was nothing.

But this was a slow, painful process.

A hole this size

could only be dug

by the ashy hands of the years

which crawl by with broken bones

caked in dust,

and the sound of deafening silence

which refuses to be heard by anyone

who is not being slowly strangled by its cold, leathery grasp,

its nails clawing down

your chalkboard neck.

Black. White. Silver. Red.

 

And I haven’t even mentioned

the second hole,

which marred the side of your stone cold face, bleached white by death

to match the shards of ice

piercing every angle

of your shattered spirit,

which frantically tried to escape

your empty shell of a body,

only to be pinned by the shell of a bullet

to the fleshy walls stitching

what’s left of you together.

White out, lights out.

Run fast to nowhere.

Black. White. Silver. Red.

 

A single silver bullet,

dull enough to clench between the sweaty skin

of your shaking fists,

sharp enough to pierce

through your hollow bones,

allowing fire to seep through the cracks,

which will soon,

by your family’s own wishes,

turn your body to silver ashes.

Dust to dust.

Black. White. Silver. Red

 

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself pull the trigger, could you?

Or, so I gathered,

from the sight

of your trembling hands and dry lips,

suddenly too weak to command your pointer finger backwards.

Your feet got cold as your blood ran.

Your hollow eyes trace the harsh lines of your cool killer,

gleaming with one final plea.

I place the gun back in your frozen grip.

And I see red on my sleeves.

Black. White. Silver. Red.

 

© Copyright Samantha Rose 2018


You can catch more of Samantha existing at her blog, Existential Poetry.

26 thoughts on “Black. White. Silver. Red. ~ Samantha Rose

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