No Siren

This bullet
Is engraved with your namesake
I intend to be
Your blindfold and last cigarette
This gun
Is rust proof from the endless drops of saline
I think there may be
Tears in the gears
This negotiation
Is with the terrorist in my heart
I have demands
That can’t be met
This lion
Is a lamb playing russian roulette
Click Click
Bang
This sniper
Is on the roof of a burning building
And there’s no siren
This ash
Is coating the scope
This phoenix
Is risen and aiming
Let them say
Here lies
The woman
Who died
For love
—-
april.duncan.2016

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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