I woke up as she died.
No room in a future
for her where I survive.
I wanted another way.
Get around her and out.
Simply leave her behind.
No room in a future
for her where I survive.
No hope beyond the poison darts
I shot at her repeatedly
from the long barrelled, yellow gun
I found under a stainless steel console.
The darts extinguish her slowly.
I was hoping for bullets.
She calls me scum
rotting flesh, pestilence, unworthy ignorance,
Whore of Babylon.
Simply no other way but to
continue shooting.
White tipped darts stick out
from her chest and neck.
Her words slur.
Unrecognizable.
She bleeds blue, bruised blood of coveted righteousness.
No room in a future
for her where I survive.
I wake up as she dies.