Poetry

There’s a gun upon my bed
Not the kind made of metal
A vivid tattoo color
Above my lover’s
Secret devil

And that gun is like a demon
Aimed toward her pleasure zone
Urging hunters to take a shot
And take the trophy
Home

I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell murder in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown

I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the bastards she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday

I feel the gun blazing
As she sucks my breath away
I’m a hostage to her body
In the mayhem
She purveys

In the middle of the night
I’ll make my escape
Run, run, run
Run away

I’ve got to run

In the middle of the night
When her back is turned
Run, run, run
Run away

I’ve got to run

There’s a gun upon my bed
It belongs to my baby
Burned deep inside her
On a night she went
Crazy

And every time I think
I’ll flee
Her dangerous painted gun
She draws it against me
And I feel myself succumb

I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell murder in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown

I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the bastards she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday

Save me from her gun
She’ll never let me go
Save me from drowning
In her young and wanton soul

I’ve got to run
But there’s a gun

My baby won’t let me go.