This is not that poem.
I remember the room where he saw my
head
at the end of the barrel. This is how
it feels
to be seemingly powerless, to know life
is in the hands
of a man's finger on a trigger and
crazy thoughts inside him walking a
tightrope.
Haha I said so he'd have a way out,
if he wanted. (I was
walking through a blackwashed
room. Sensing. No one
could see my eyes
were peeled open moons. They couldnt
have
been more open.)
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