My nail polish is chipped.
Like my heart really;
Black and broken.
I just wanted someone
who would stand still with me.
But then we were running,
praying we would both get out alive.
I found your gun
in that box with the
photographs.
Their colourless faces staring
up at me.
Their eyes unblinking
in their naivety.
Picture myself holding the barrel
to you head.
I never had the heart to load it.
The mirror is empty.
I don't deserve a reflection.
Your hands to my throat again.
