• I met a boy at the age of 18.
    He had no arms license,
    but his hazel eyes,
    often shot bullet holes through my soul.
    An unarmed robber,
    he stole my heart,
    using soft empty words,
    as his intangible weapons of choice.
    I was never clumsy,
    but I stumbled into his hold,
    swooned by late night flirting,
    unwritten promises,
    and a closure on distance.
    All too soon,
    I relied on him for a false sense
    of happiness,
    of caring,
    of love;
    of something to make me feel alive.
    He never told me he wanted to be a magician,
    but he put on a disappearing act
    and vanished into thin air.
    To this day I wonder
    if he shot himself in the mouth with a pistol
    would he still claim
    that I pulled the trigger?