Gunshots & Grenades

i used to wonder where you got it from,
your blue-black stare, reminiscent of bruises
broken blood vessels beneath your skin
but darling, your ice-ice-baby demeanor screams
i'm-too-tough-for-you
                                [oh, crybabycry,
                                'cause i am not here for you].

and when you walk away
don't look back as i sink to the ground,
spurting blood from my chest;
i swear i'm sorry that i thought
for even a second
that you were the one
            [my man, white-lightning,
      saving me from the storm --
                  too bad you struck.too.soon,
              cracked my heart in two].

but love, even though your eyes are on the sky,
on the next girl just  a c h i n g  for your hands on her thighs,
you know that there's still a little something sparkling on the ground,
clear as crystal and twice as nice.

and those diamond ring promises,
those dusty memories you stamped into the ground
                                                  {time.and.time    again}
are still hidden in a little black box
beneath my bed
with your name engraved in silver;
honey, i hope you wish you stayed
[and you will, someday,
when all you have to keep you company
are vodka shots, broken glasses in the sink
                                                              (ohmaybeifyou'relucky,
                                                              you'llslitthatgorgeouswrist
                                                              whenyoudropthenextonein)
and those ever-so-friendly roaches
keeping house in your walls]

so take your gun and .shoot. for glory
as you run blindly into the sunset
after the white horse that will  n|e|v|e|r  love you
as much as i did,
because by god,
your half-closed eyes
[reeking of the sinfully-sweet dope that's done you in for good]
are only a reminder of the person
you could've been once
but    won't    ever    be

                {the one i accidentally thought you were,
                  back before you charred your heart
                  trying to grill me into submission}



oh and loverboy,
trust me when i say
that box is going up in flames;;
i'll be filling it with your gunpowder and lighting the match,
throwing it after you and watching as it 

                    E X P L O D E S

                              in your [so-called] happy ending.