Murder She Wore
It would be crass, and more than a little stupid, to get a tattoo. But she couldn’t stymie the desire to brandish a badge of honor.
Her ear adorned with bullet earrings was a talking piece. It was hard to hide the great pride she felt knowing it was more than unique flair. Instead, or also, it was a testament to her sharpshooting.
She didn’t really feel like a murderer, if they even feel a universal way. She just felt like a girl with a talent, and a love of guns. Nothing was ever premeditated. Except the new bullet earring.
Day after day, I cram the fragments
Of my own broken love into stories I tell,
Trying to make sense of what it all meant,
Like each time I retell it, it softens the fall.
I know it's been long enough I should forget,
But love is as haunting as any other ghost.
And the feelings are stuck like glass in my heart,
Hard as I try to pry them from their post.
Most will say I'm overreacting.
"You call that love?" they say, and they're right.
It was a sorry excuse for the magic I'm seeking.
It's supposed to be beauty, not struggle and fight.
But still it sneaks its way into mind and pen and life,
Still I find the past buried in every corner, gleaming still.
So the memories hold more power than the times themselves held light,
So maybe I was in love with a thought, not the one I gave it to.
Therefore
I am the child
who sits alone
on rooftops
feet dangling
to watch
the city
burn to ash
I am a heavy
hearted widow
awestruck and
bewildered by
New York City
boulevards
I am this
ancient world
crumbling at
the heels of
technology
my heartbeat
the echo
of a small dying
hummingbird
I am a cloudburst
in the distance
waiting silently
for rain
and you are
the drop
Ditto
I know what it's like
To sit in dark rooms
For too many nights
For too many reasons
Conflicted
I know what it's like
To find the courage
To drop the hammer
And fuck that up too
I know what it's like
To be tormented
By petty gods
With days of horror
And beautiful dreams
I know what it's like
To be you
David Burdett
6/29/2023
Story. Song. Voice.
Hope. Despair. Choice.
A world between the pages.
A life within the melody.
The earth spins and changes.
Takes the life we waste in jealousy.
Fantasy. Reality.
Youth. Mortality.
Opposites aren't always different,
Just two like things with unlike masks.
Each unique, magnificent,
Affecting each other in ways neither grasps.
Here. There. Gone.
Dusk. Midnight. Dawn.
Living in parallel worlds,
But always to each other drawn.
Magic is hidden like pearls,
Waiting for us to bring the dawn.