The smell of blood defied gravity,
thrusting itself into the caverns of my nose,
which pressed against a stone wall,
aimlessly scattered with a rainbow of chewing gum.
I knew I’d heard a gunshot, a splatter too.
But with my body throbbing in fear,
how was I to know if that scent
was of my own body,
or my mother who lay motionless at my feet?
How would I know either of us would live?
Now the enemy,
a tall infinite darkness,
bore its gun into my temple;
just behind my left brow,
the was barrel still hot from its last target.
With death caressing me
fear escaped my being,
dissolving into the chill of night.
Death was easily accepted, though not welcome.
And there it took me,
and here I lay again,
staring into my mother’s eyes,
like the day I entered the world.
I'm looking to become a stronger writer and your feedback has been very helpful! I find my strengths, as a writer, mostly reside in poems, short stories and essays.