eulogy 2
He aimed at the world through me, rage shaking in his wrists, love rotting into venom.
Murder dripped from his mouth like honey, and dead curled in the corner, waiting its turn.
I saw his pupils split in two—
husband and executioner.
The gun glared like prophecy.
I didn’t flinch.
I was ready to vanish with him; ashes tangled in the same wind.
But the bullet never came. His hand betrayed me with mercy, or madness swallowed me whole, or God watched with cruel restraint.
He fired into himself instead. The walls became red scripture, and I was left breathing, a widow embalmed in silence.
Why didn’t he shoot me?
Why carve me hollow and leave me walking?
I sleep beside a phantom trigger; I wake with blood in my mouth; I speak to the shadow of a man who finished his vow with violence.
God spared me
or mocked me.
I don’t know which.
All I know is my skin is a grave he didn’t dig, my body a question left unanswered, my soul a bullet still chambered.
Chloe