The words fly at me
Bullets from the gun of the mouth of people who know no better

Sir

I felt scrape my cheek
A passing shot
Intent on damage

He said

I didn’t at first sense an exit wound
The blood trickled down my belly
Warm from violence

Oh, it’s his

Pointing at me
An assassination attempt of who I became
Hired gunmen
Sometimes unsure of their own mission
Unaware of their own might
The excuses of error
Long-barreled rifles
Missing major arteries
Still requiring a tourniquet

Sorry, I’m not used to the new terms
I was taught something else

A gatling gun
The apparatus from an old war
Rogues looking to take out their unresolved horrors on innocents
They’re still in the village
Still seeing mists of Agent Orange
What are you
The flick of a blade
Swishing out of its steel sarcophagus
I’m cornered between them and those who don’t speak up
Hoping others will
Some days in that chase
I die
The bears eat me
Some days I fend them off and make my arms bigger
Flailing and intimidating
Even coming back means I’m alive for another fight or another flight
Perceiving symmetry of life and death
At the mercy of the script
X-rays showing the rips and tears
After an overnight I walk out into the sun
Challenging the hitmen
Once again
Living close to the end credits