we’re locked
in a Mexican stand off,
and no one wants to be
the first one
to put down their gun.

it’s about trust, in the end. do we
trust each other with the ammunition
to destroy each other’s hearts,
or do we swallow these secrets
burning inside our throats
yearning to be free
but terrified of the power
and the endless bragging rights
that the winner will wield over the loser?

it says a lot about the baggage we both carry
from all our previous heartache
that the loser will be the one
who confesses their love first.

I would wish us both free
of this wall of thorns, but
I can’t imagine myself
without my scars,
and I expect you
wouldn’t be the same person either, and
I like you far too much
just the way you are
to sincerely wish you
any other way.

if only we could find a way
out of this maze
without destroying each other
in the process.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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