Residue
wounds from
butterfly bullets
shatter bones
filling my frame
with stitches
unexplainable
and hard to hide,
with an itch
like a son of a bitch
resembling his smoking gun,
firing with full force and fury
over time
becoming scar tissue
a story whispered bedside
because bruised hearts
beat on in new song
understanding the brittleness
is brought within our being
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