because what do you say,
when you have already shot me?
will you hand me bandages,
gauze,
a bandaid maybe?
that’s all you have now,
but before I had the power to cauterize my wound—
and
so
did
you
but
now
we
stand
here.
I am full of fear,
and you are upset I am afraid.
I’ll hold that open wound
until I’m coughing up blood.
my hands are stained,
you can broadcast it live on tv,
make me a martyr,
spew your regrets as I do with my guts,
and you’ll rush to me when you realize your mistakes—
you’ll spill tears over a body you hate,
but it will be too late,
because what do you say,
when you have already shot me.