Remains

• Probably armed, possibly not
• I see every round as it rips through his life
• He’s there on the ground, sort of inside out, pain itself, the image of agony
• tosses its guts back into it’s body
• End of story except not really
• His blood-shadow stays on the street
• Then I’m home on leave. But I blink
• Drink and drugs wont flush him out
• Here in my head when I close my eyes
• His bloody life in my bloody hands